


The Ballad of Cas and Dean: Elegy of an Era

by Naoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1930s, 3rd degree burns, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, American History, Bad Decisions, Bank Robbery, Based on True Events, Betrayal, Blanche Barrow - Freeform, Bonnie Parker - Freeform, Bonnie!Cas, Buck Barrow, Car Accidents, Car Chases, Clyde Barrow - Freeform, Clyde!Dean, Coma, Declarations Of Love, Documentation, Doomed Love, Epic Love, Epistolary, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hostage Situations, I tried to soften the end, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interviews, Letters, Love Letters, Love at First Sight, M/M, Murder, On the Run, Period-Typical Homophobia, Police, Police deaths, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prohibition, Romantic Gestures, Smoking, True Love, bonnie and clyde - Freeform, bullet wounds, car theft, combination of styles, crime spree, historical epic love, incarceration, prison escapes, serious violence, trapped in fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naoe/pseuds/Naoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Dean and Cas Secret Santa: Dean Barrow Winchester and Castiel Parker Novak are two of the most wanted in the USA. Told from the headlines, they were merciless murderers, bank robbers, and illicit lovers. But maybe the story was a different, more about a relentless love than Prohibition Robin Hoods. </p><p>The Story of Bonnie and Clyde told with a twist.</p><p>[<b>NOTE</b>: if you are reading this as PDF or on an e-reader, the FORMATTING will not come through and you are missing part of it.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue — The Ballad of Cas and Dean: An Elegy of an Era by Hael Parker Novak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetheartdean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetheartdean/gifts).



> Here is the music. Please give it a listen as you read:
> 
> [Ballad of Cas and Dean](http://8tracks.com/naoe/ballad-of-cas-and-dean?utm_medium=trax_embed) from [Naoe](http://8tracks.com/naoe?utm_medium=trax_embed) on [8tracks Radio](http://8tracks.com?utm_medium=trax_embed).
> 
>  
> 
>  **My Official Author's Note:** There is so much to say, and little time to say it in. My prompt was "Cas and Dean as Bonnie and Clyde, make as historically accurate as possible." This, as it turned out, was more of a wormhole than I anticipated, since I knew the story of Bonnie and Clyde, but (like most US-ians) I only knew the surface of the story. Perhaps the most aggravating thing is the conflicting timelines, stories, eyewitness accounts, and just plain false reporting that I had to dig through. And I didn't have time to read the hundreds of books on the topic. Alas, my interest was also my downfall. I should have picked the café AU. 
> 
> So, this story is historically accurate as I can get it, all while being a big fat **lie.** I eased it up. I dumbed down some events. It was not a nice or pretty story to begin with and I didn't want to get TOO graphic.
> 
> As such, the story is **romantic, angsty, bloody,** and just **violent**. I fear the request was asking for a less dark version (perhaps like the movies) but the "historically accurate" was what I ended up focusing on. The events are true, even if I lied around them.
> 
> Bonnie DID keep a journal and write letters, but she was nowhere as articulate as I made Cas. Clyde was nowhere as articulate/literate as I made Dean, but he was actually (personality wise) not that different. 
> 
> Any way, the most I can say in this case is: I tried. I did. I have witnesses that I sweated this. I can actually include my mother on the list. I send my love to [ShippersList](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/pseuds/ShippersList) (She's magnificent. Check out her work!) for giving me support when I sobbed and whined my way through this and for beta'ing the monstrosity. Much love to [CheriiArt](http://cheriiart.tumblr.com/post/104718540550/currently-open-school-is-over-christmas-is) for doing the art for me. Part of this story is visual and I was at my wit's end. 
> 
> So, overall, this is where we landed because I was tickled with the idea of an epistolary tale. Forgive me. I am not worthy.
> 
> "AUTHOR NOTE" or "[] marks" inside of the text are NOT my actual author note(s). It's the biographer of the story's A/N. Any notes *I* make will be made here or in the end notes.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: Cas is pretty upbeat regardless of what is going on. It's dark, but it's not horrible, earth-shakingly awful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to teen!Cas. Welcome to the 1920s in West Dallas, Prohibition-Era slum and dust hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All AUTHOR NOTES are by the figurative narrative WITHIN the text. Any of my notes are outside the text. 
> 
> All "quotes" are real with names changed, from a real book called "Fugitives." 
> 
> Bonnie Parker = Castiel Parker Novak.

**AUTHOR INTRODUCTION**

I always knew I was related to Castiel Parker Novak. My family had always been simultaneously embarrassed and proud of our relation: embarrassed that the Novaks were related to an infamous murderer; proud that he claimed a place of infamy on the wall of history.

I, personally, was fairly indifferent to all the hushed and muted tones, of quiet stories that my aging great-aunt and uncles liked to spin about Castiel’s beauty and how he captured the eye of Dean Barrow Winchester one soft afternoon at his friend Charlotte’s house. She had broken her arm and Castiel was making her hot chocolate when Winchester walked into his life.

They made it sound scandalous and romantic, all while saying it was sordid and against God. 

But perhaps the point is that, while I knew I was related to him, I was not expecting to find a stack of Castiel’s journals hidden away in the attic, one of them riddled with bullet holes and caked with blood. I had believed all the press about his being a full-partner in the murderous crime spree, but now I see that the world was wrong. I was wrong.

If Castiel was to be believed, it was indeed a love story. If the world is to be believed, however, it was a tragedy.

I present excerpts of the journal for your edification supported by outside documentation (e.g., books, newspapers, interviews) and pieced together a storyline where narrative may fail. 

* * *

 

> _So he died Meg Master’s husband in the eyes of the law, although he belonged wholly to Dean from the instant he first laid eyes on him, for it was that sort of love. _—_ Naomi Parker Novak, Kristy Cowan Barrow — Fugitives: The True Story of Dean Barrow Winchester and Castiel Parker Novak._

### 23 Aug 1925

...how utterly dull school is of recent. When Momma originally proposed we attend, I was quite ecstatic. After all, anything had to be better than sitting in the house all day listening to Momma talk about how glorious the “good old days” had been. I wish she would just disappear into the good old days and be quiet. Honestly, I do not know how good they could have been if her family had been dirt poor immigrants, which is just a notch below being just plain dirt poor.

Gabriel tells me that I need to just give it time, and found me a small part-time position as a seamstress to bring in funds. Of course, Anna finds it hilarious that, despite being a man, I am a fine seamstress. If I were more skilled, I suppose I could find a job as a tailor. But who really wants a job fitting men to their trousers all day? I want something better.

Anna says I will end up dead in a ditch if I do not reign in my rebellious ways. Out of the three of us, she likes to joke that I have a crack in my chassis, and that I will definitely regret my life decisions. I shan't regret it though. If I can just manage to throw off these chains of responsibility, I’m sure I could fly…

### 1 Oct 1925

Today I am 15 years of age. I am getting old quickly. I begged Momma to allow me some free time to buy a root beer float from the soda jerk, but she insisted I come straight home after school. I had chores to complete. You would think I wasn’t a nearly full grown man the way she and Gabriel treat me. Gabriel spends most of his free time at the bar and with women. He says he’s earned it, what with being the eldest. I am rather indignant that his being older gives him that much more freedom. He’s not Father. Father’s been dead for 11 years. Gabriel isn’t my Father. I will escape from under his (hypocritical) thumb.

Anna wished me a happy birthday and gave me a sweater she had knitted and a nickel she had found and saved. I love my sister.

### 24 Dec 1925

It is cold outside. Gabriel says it may snow. I hope so. If I have the chance, I will peg him outside the head with a snowball. It will cool down his swollen head, I hope. I brought home a new book by H.G. Wells, recommended by Charlie (although Momma says I must call her Charlotte). It whiles away the time. Perhaps Gabriel can sneak us into the theater this week. There's a new film I want to see. It's adapted from Barrie's "Peter Pan." I must see if I can convince him.

I won another writing contest at school. My poetry is steadily improving. Gabriel teases me about my work and insists it makes me more girly. Anna says to ignore him. My writing, she says, will make me famous.

I hope so. Perhaps it’ll help me fly…?

### 25 Jan 1926

A new girl joined the upperclassmen. She has dark fluffy hair, cut short around her round face. She's a flapper, and she wears more cosmetics than Momma, Anna, and the whole church choir combined. I love it. She wears silk stockings with embroidered flowers and dragons, not plain black. She smokes cigarettes behind the school, baring her calves and pursing her blood red lips. She caught me watching her and invited me over. Cigarettes taste awful, but her brown eyes were full of mischief. I may be in love. Her name is Meg.

### 19 Apr 1926

I hate this school year. The lack of work in the country has caused many of the kids to drop out to find jobs. As it is, I’m barely holding on myself. Gabriel is struggling to help support us. Meg has been pulling petty crimes to keep fed. I’ve warned her repeatedly to be careful, but she’s already been caught a couple of times for shoplifting. It makes me angry, but then she kisses me and I forget that she’s constantly getting caught. She lets me touch her all over through her clothes, and she’s so soft.

I wrote her a poem and she liked it. I hope to marry her someday.

### 23 June 1926

Meg has been hiding from the police again. I miss her. I wrote a poem for her and the situation. She patted my cheek and called me a “nice kid.” I think she doubts my intentions. I will marry this girl. She smells like roses, Lucky Strikes, and freedom.

### 18 Sep 1926

I caught Meg talking to Luke earlier today. Luke, who is older than both of us and is basically running moonshine and bad liqueur for the local speakeasies. He’s Trouble, under the eye of the law, and bigger than anything she’s ever been into. Certainly, he is good looking, with his sharp suit and his slicked-back blond hair. He looks the darb of the season, with his flashy new Ford. But I’m not losing her to him. I will ask her to marry me. I’m going to do it tomorrow.

### 19 Sep 1926

I asked her. It was a miracle. She said yes. I will have to find the money for a license… I’m a bit short...

### 26 Sep 1926

Today, Ms. Meg Masters is now Mrs. Parker Novak. I am finally going to have all of her. My sweet Meg... my bad girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Bonnie was a smoker of Camels.  
> \- She won English awards while she was in school. She dropped out to marry Roy Thorton (AKA: Meg Masters).  
> \- Roy did go to prison. No lie. They never divorced.


	2. Cas meets Dean (CH 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas meets Dean for the first time, discovering love, betrayal, and more about the law than he ever wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song "Can't We Be Friends" is available on [YouTube video](http://youtu.be/QfEEOI0zQUo).

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

It is well known that Cas met Dean at a friend’s house several years after his marriage to Meg. It was, in fact, a coincidental meeting that was later likened to fate or destiny by fawning biographers and Depression-era yellow journalists. The so-called meeting of two destined hearts that fell in love at first sight. Cas’s mother, Naomi, was quite certain her blue-eyed boy was merely in love and that’s how he ended up on that path and said so in her biography. Friends of Dean also reported that from the moment he caught sight of the young man, he was smitten. And if Dean loved to take the hard way every single time, then Cas loved to watch his bad boy drive to the edge of it every time.

Other telling facts include that it is true that Meg had been arrested for her involvement with Luke James and serving her time. She was already in prison when Dean Barrow Winchester walked into Castiel’s life. They never divorced. So, not only did the stigma of two men in love follow the boys, but the fact Cas was still married made them titillating news. It was sensationalized in the newspapers: the handsome villain and his gun-toting moll.

Interestingly enough, however, it never bothered them.

* * *

### 5 Jan, 1930

I am tired of this situation. I lost my job at the restaurant and I am staying at Charlotte’s because she’s broken her arm and requires help with everyday things. As such, I am left cleaning the house for her daily and making meals. If I hadn’t helped raise my little sister and taken care of Gabriel, I would have had no clue on how to do any of it. As it was, I am lucky I know a bit about cooking, since, as Gabriel likes to (endlessly) tease me, most men do not. His very manly job of laying pipe pays well but hardly seems gratifying in the long run. Perhaps I'm wrong; he seems to think so.

Today, however, I was in the kitchen, fixing a very spoiled Charlie her cup of cocoa, when I heard the most glorious voice in the day room. It was low and purred like a cat sunning on a window sill.

When I came out carrying the cocoa, I found Charlie entertaining a young man in a fine dark-brown suit with thin pinstriping. Charlie was smiling up at him, her bright red hair cut short like a man’s, wearing her favorite men’s pants and shirt, and laughing. When she saw I had come in, she looked over and said, “Cassie, darling, let me introduce to a friend of Ash’s, um, Dean, right? I do apologize… Dean…?”

She had paused to let the young man tender his own name, and the young man turned to face me with a wide smile that quickly (embarrassingly) became appreciative. “Well, now, my family name is Winchester, but please, just call me Dean.”

If I were more of a devout churchgoer, I do believe I would have had to thank the good lord for his creations. At that moment, I had forgotten how to breathe, my heart suddenly having lodged itself in my throat and most definitely cut off my air supply. The man was purely beautiful, with eyes of crystal green the likes I had never seen before. In the day room, what with all the windows and plants Charlie liked to keep, it was as if a Grecian god had stepped into the world and stopped to say hello. His shoulders were wide in the suit, and his hips slim. Freckles danced across the bridge of his nose, accentuating his cheekbones. Most of all, his lips were rosy pink and so plump I wanted to see if they were indeed as soft as they looked.

I am fairly certain I was able to hand the cocoa to Charlie without dropping it, but I still had to wipe my palms against the harsh weave of my trousers before trying to shake his hand.

I had heard of love at first sight. I had. I had never believed it. But here I was confronted with such a beautiful man that I stuttered out, “C-Castiel Novak. P-pleased to meet you, sir.”

Those beautiful plump lips again framed the most heartbreakingly gorgeous smile for me, and he said in a warm voice that hinted at flirtation, “Pleasure is assuredly all mine. And please...call me Dean.”

“Dean,” I echoed, sure a blush was riding my cheeks like a damn blushing maid instead of man married for three years. Certainly Meg was in the hoosegow for a long stretch, but I still loved her. I'd been faithful.

Or I thought I loved her, until those green eyes sparkled at me with wide pupils and a salacious grin that made my knees weak. It occurred to me that perhaps I didn't know what love was after all.

It also went to show me that this was something new and different, as I had never shown much interest in men as sexual beings, but Dean… oh dear lord, Dean made my motor run by simply standing there.

Charlie politely coughed and it felt as if something snapped, a tension I didn’t understand, as my eyes were torn away from the man. Charlie said, “Dean, Cassie here is in-between jobs right now. I understand from Ash that you are also currently seeking work. Perhaps it would be beneficial if you exchange addresses so as to contact each other should something arise?”

Those green eyes shifted over to Charlie assessingly, and he said with measure, “I would love to do that, but I am sadly between homes right now.”

“You can come stay with me.”

It has occurred to me that sometimes my mouth escapes my control and that was one of those times.

“A-afterall, Charlie,” I said, trying for nonchalance, “Two men in one room wouldn’t be so bad for awhile, right? Nothing untoward.”

Charlie has never been one to be hoodwinked. “Oh, certainly, nothing untoward,” she echoed, her eyes rolling upward in a wholly unlady-like way.

“Charlie,” I hissed, embarrassed.

“Yes, yes. Of course, Dean. Please make yourself at home.” She waved towards the house with her good hand. “Cassie will make sure you are comfortable, I’m sure.”

I do not, for the life of me, recall what I have ever done that deserved that level of embarrassment. I had glared at Charlie once more, and then tried to turn a pleasant smile on Dean. “I do apologize, but Charlie was brought up by wolves,” I said agreeably.

“More like Morlocks, you twit,” I heard her mutter. I ignored her and gestured towards the door and the stairway.

Dean paused and looked a bit uncomfortable. “Although I appreciate the thought,” he said, shifting from foot to foot, “I don’t think it’s right.”

I blinked at him and I suspect I did that bird-like thing that Gabriel (as usual) likes to tease me about, where my head is tilted inquisitively (or so says Gabriel). “I don’t see why it would be a problem. The bed is a large one.”

He shuffled again for a moment, before Charlie said, “Go on, you big bimbo. I’m already sick of playing fire extinguisher.”

Those great greens eyed her and he sighed. “Ab-so-lute-ly raised by Morlocks. I’ve gotten earful, right enough. Well, let’s get a wiggle on it before Charlie starts talking about H.G. Wells again. That's how she trapped me, talking The Time Machine or Journey to the Center of the Earth."

“Hey, you knew the Morlocks, and you can't hoodwink me, you dog! Stick around long enough, and I’m going to make you read Lovecraft, see if I don't!”

“Took you more for bull fests than Lovecraft from what Ash tells me.” I grimaced because Dean hit it on the head: Charlie loved to talk about her female conquests among friends.

“That damn Ash,” she muttered, looking mortified. “I’ll make him button it when I see him again.”

We all laughed and Dean and I left her to read. I motioned for Dean to follow me as we passed through the day room doors and into the hallway where the stairway started. We started walking up, when I felt the warmth of a gaze on my back. I coughed uncomfortably and half-turned to find the appreciative eyeing I was receiving from behind. No wonder my back felt so hot!

"So," I started in all careful like, "you enjoy HG Wells?"

"And how! The man has a vision of the future I can get behind. None of this darkness we're living. A future where we fly and we explore the earth! It’s the bees knees!”

As we started to walk up the stairway, his hand suddenly took mine and he asked in a soft voice, "I mean, don't you ever feel like you're meant for more than this dusty hellhole, Cas?"

Two things took me aback, and I addressed the most pressing, which was, "Cas? Why are you calling me that?"

"Can't I?" Those green eyes peered into mine and, from this angle, I could see the flecks of gold that glittered mischievously at the center. "Do you hate it?"

"No," I replied. "In fact, it's better than Cassie in my opinion."

Again, a heart-stopping smile just for me, as lightly-callused fingers wrapped gently around mine on the banister. Time stopped. It actually stopped, and if no one ever believes me, that's fine because I know that whatever resistance I had had before it was completely blown away by those warm fingers. And then I stuttered, "Y-yes, Dean."

He stopped the soft stroking of my fingers, a slight furrow ruining that smooth brow.

"Yes, what?"

I took a deep breath and moved down a step so I was only a bit taller than him now and he was looking directly up into my face. “I always thought I was meant for better,” I said. But what I thought is, _“Maybe I was just meant for you?”_

Dean smiled at me from under his lashes and I found myself swallowing hard as I said, “W-we should go upstairs.”

“Lead on, fella.”

I took him up to the spare room I was staying at. Technically, Charlie had three rooms: one for herself, one for guests, and one for her mother when she stayed in Dallas. Her mother was adamant no one stay in her room, and Charlie had no truck with men. The room, however, was fairly spacious, and much better than what I had at home. There I had to share with Gabriel, which was a kind of nightmare in itself. Here, Charlie had the heavy sugar to pay for all the fancy goods. Even after Black Tuesday, her money was fine since she invested in gold and kept most of it close to the chest.

The bed was large, made more for a couple than one person, the quilt a ruddy red that was no longer quite maroon from washing. Embroidered birds and patch flowers were its theme, and it was rather ugly in my opinion, but Charlie said some great aunt of hers had given it to her mother for her trousseau and there was no being rid of the thing. There was a dresser with a mirror in cherry wood, a large maroon velvet chair and a small table with a lamp, under which I had stacked some books on. The heavy curtains were a deep maroon, echoing the details in the heavy oriental rug on the wooden floor, while the walls were wallpapered in a floral print where maroon was the main color.

It was a bit overwhelming.

Charlie had said it was a bit like stepping into the mouth of Dante’s Inferno, but it was her mother’s choice.

I waved my hand at the grandeur, and said, “Uh, there it is. There’s an attached toilet through there and… that’s it.”

I cocked my head a bit and asked, “Do we need to fetch your gear?”

Dean laughed and began to strip off his suit coat. “All I got right now is on my back, snuggle pup.”

“Snuggle pup? We’ve barely shook hands.”

Dean paused and eyed me to be sure I was serious, and then chortled. “Ah, you’re swell, that’s for sure. So funny.”

He approached my position next to the bureau, and I tried not to panic. A smirk curled over his lips, as if he could read my mind, and, as he advanced on me, he whispered, “Don’t worry, Cas. I won’t hurt you.”

A warm hand slid behind my back, another grasping my hand, he tugged me close and started humming a song. “Dancing?” I asked quietly, his precious face so close to mine.

That damn smirk just stayed curled in the corners of his mouth and he kept humming as he moved us around the room in a slow circle, the lines of our bodies so close I could smell his warm musk beneath the cologne he was wearing. It took me a moment to place the song, since it was still fairly new, but when I did, I felt the surprise make me stiff and my eyes go wide. He dipped his head close to my ear and started singing softly in that warm, caramel voice:

 

I thought I'd found the man of my dreams;  
Now, it seems...this is how the story ends:  
He's going to turn me down  
and say 'Can't we be friends?'  
I thought for once it couldn't go wrong.  
Not for long, I can see the way this ends,  
He's going to turn me down  
and say 'Can't we be friends?'  
Never again, through with love,  
through with men,  
They play their game without shame  
and who's to blame?  
I thought I'd found a man I could trust;  
what a bust! This is how the story ends.  
He's going to turn me down  
and say 'Can't we be friends?'

He hummed a bit more, dancing us around the room, until we stopped back where we started. Those bewitching green eyes had caught me more firmly than a fly in a spider’s web, and after that lightly calloused hand cupped my cheek and that thumb brushed my lips, I did not have the strength to say no when he kissed me ever so lightly.

“Cas, Cas, Cas,” He murmured, his lips ghosting over mine. “What trouble are you going to bring me, angel?”

The feeling was mutual; but, I don’t care where I end up so long as I stay in those arms. 

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE:**

The courtship of Cas and Dean has often been considered “short.” Although Charlotte had reported the men had shared a bed, she often clarified that it was purely platonic. If it had gone beyond that, she had claimed to be unaware.

But the courtship was long and intense enough that, within a few weeks of meeting Dean, Cas took his handsome beau to meet his mother. Naomi Parker Novak, however, was not impressed, seeing only a hoodlum. The impression was made worse by Dean’s being arrested in her house the day after for thievery and burglary.

It would do no harm to remind readers that Cas was only 19, and Dean had just turned 20 soon after they met.

Things started to fall into motion that neither of them fully realized and that neither of them could control, to the horror of their families and loved ones. 

* * *

 

### 28 Feb 1930

It’s been a few weeks since Dean was sent up. I miss him. I visit him when I can, and he’s been so sweet. I’m grateful my cousin Hannah and her husband have been all right with my staying with them. I would have to cut my visits shorter if I had to come back and forth from Dallas to Waco to visit him.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like I’m dying without him. Last time I saw him, he gave me a map to his friend Will Turner’s parents’ house. Begged me to fetch them the gun Turner had hidden. Told me where they hid it and everything. I took Hannah with me, although she didn’t like it. We waited until his parents were gone to go into the house, but the gun wasn’t where it was promised! We had to tear the house apart! But I finally I found the gun hidden at the bottom of a window seat. Ah, but we left the house a mess.

But now that I have it...Do I do it? I will definitely be a criminal if I do it.

My honey had also handed me a note: "You're the sweetest baby in the world to me".

How can I refuse to help him? I have the note under my pillow. I love him. 

### 5 Mar 1930

I don’t care. I need him and law be damned. I’ll figure something out to smuggle it into him. 

### 9 Mar 1930

The McLennan County Jail has little to recommend it. I’ve thought this the whole time Dean’s been locked up in there. I went to see him yesterday, as planned. I was very nervous, since he was going to be moved to the Huntsville Prison later today. 

I was given time to visit him, and, as usual, the visit was so nice but too short, since they only gave me a few minutes to say goodbye. He was dressed in his prison garb, looking dusty and not at all the dapper fella I fell for, but he was still glowing with an inner light that I doubt anything will dim. 

Since I was given so little time, I had to hurry. I had dressed in my forest green knickerbockers because they were baggier than my trousers and I could fit the gun in them. I turned into him to give him a hug, and whispered, “Put your hand inside my pants, honey.” 

The guards never patted down my nethers, and it was my best chance to slip it to him. He grinned and slipped his hand inside my pants. I shivered since it had been so long since he had touched me like that, a low moan escaping me.

The jailer actually turned his head, embarrassed, I imagine, that two men were openly fondling each other. It was the moment Dean slipped the little snub-nosed six-shooter into his own pants’ pocket, taking the moment to kiss me deeply.

When we broke off, I ran my hand down his face lovingly and said, “Be careful, sugar.” And left.

Now, all that’s left is to wait for him to fetch me. 

### 12 Mar 1930

I heard he escaped! The newspaper reported it this morning! I am so happy! I’m sure he’ll come for me soon! 

Although I love my cousin Hannah, I’m tired of waiting it out here in Waco… he said he’d come for me. He promised. 

What if he doesn’t come? Maybe I should go back to Dallas..? Maybe he’ll come for me there? 

### 13 Mar 1930

Hannah and I had a bit of a scare last night. Two men showed up at the door, and we didn’t know who they were. I worried they had figured out that I had snuck the gun to Dean, and I was about to get arrested. They banged on the door for a few minutes and just left. I am going back to Dallas tonight. I can’t get Hannah any more involved in this. 

### 15 Mar 1930

I was nervous about being caught by the law, so I hitchhiked back to Dallas. No word from Dean yet. Nothing about him being caught, so I’m still hopeful. Momma was awful mad at me. She scolded me for a good hour about wasting my life on that man, and me married and all. Furthermore, how dare I break the laws of God and lay with a man. 

I suspect Momma has never been in love. Never felt the overpowering attraction to another human being to the extent you can only see God’s work in their face, an imprint that burns to your soul. Those green eyes that glow and glitter like the trees in the stained glass windows of the church, that speak to me just like I was sitting at a talkie. But if I have to burn in Hell for that man’s touch, I’ll do it. I’ll jump straight in, so long as it’s his arms waiting to catch me at the bottom. 

Momma called me a fool and locked me in my bedroom tonight. 

But Dean will come rescue me. I know he will. 

### 16 Mar 1930

I received a telegram! He’s safe and in Illinois! He’s coming for me. I’m to wait at his home with his family. Thank God that he’s alive and free! 

### 18 Mar 1930

Received word today that Dean has been recaptured. I am heartbroken. 

### 21 Apr 1930

This time, because of the jailbreak, he’s going to be sent to Eastham Prison Farm for 14 years. Am I being punished? First Meg, now Dean! 

### 12 Jun 1930

Momma is pushing me to forget about Dean. How can I when summer is here and the bright green leaves and grass remind me of his eyes? The night sky reminds me of his freckles. I could forget Dean as much as I could forget my own name. But Momma won’t let me see him in Eastham. Says the prison farm is too dangerous. 

I miss him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The two men were actually sent by Clyde (AKA: Dean) to fetch Bonnie (Cas) but the girls didn't know that until much later.


	3. Correspondence at The Walls (CH 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas correspond while he's imprisoned at Eastham Prison Farm (AKA: The Walls).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so people are aware, a Prison Farm is an institution run like a slave plantation. The inmates are treated with similar respect, and many people died under this system. Texas, in this time period, had THE WORST prisons in the country. On the list of WORSTS, the number one spot was Eastham.

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

My family often told me that Naomi Parker Novak pushed and pushed Cas to forget about Dean, even insisting that, if he was going to cheat on his wife, Meg, then at least find another woman. He was harangued into seeing several in the intervening months between Dean’s transfer to Eastham, also called ‘The Walls,’ and his eventual release. 

The following passage follows information taken from Benny Fults Lafitte, Jacob Talley, and from information from Winchester family members that Dean had told about his time in “Hell,” as he often called Eastham. 

* * *

**INTERVIEW: BENNY FULTS LAFITTE by CHUCK SHURLEY (1967)**

>Is this thing on? *tap tap* I think it’s on.

>Okay, this is Chuck Shurley, biographer, talking to Benjamin Fultz Lafitte. The date is June 5, 1967. I’m writing a biography of Dean and Cas, and I wanted to get your perspective on them as the new movie with Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway is to be released this August. 

>(In a deep, Southern accent) Yep. That’s what they said. Dunno why they figured on making Cas a woman, but ain’t no trouble of mine, I suppose. 

>Mr. Lafitte, you’re originally from New Orleans, right? And you drifted to Texas sometime in the mid-1920s? Well, I know you were picked up by the law a few times over the years, but to get to the point, you originally met Dean Winchester on the road to Eastham Prison Farm, right? 

>Yep. Dean was sent up for “multiple violations,” as it were, two counts of burglary and five counts of auto theft. I met him on the Black Betty [the vehicle that took people to prison]  taking us out there. He had never done hard time, y’see. I thought he had this cocky attitude, like he own’d the world. I tried to warn him, but he didn’t listen. ‘Course, a sheik like him caught Al’s eye right off the bat. 

>Sheik? With a cocky attitude? 

>Oh sure. Dean was a looker when he was young, a high-class sheik. The guys used to joke about his girly looks and soft lips. He’d get in fights all the time. And he was used to getting away with things with his charm, especially from the coppers. But that time, he weren’t lucky. I tried to warn him, but he was confident.

>Warn him?

>’Bout Al. Alistair "Big Al" Crowder. See, Big Al were a baby grand of a man, an’ he took an immediate shine to Dean. Somethan’ ‘bout Dean set off the demon in that man. Eastham, [aside: we called it “The Walls”] y’know, was a literal HELL. Big Al help’d keep that rep. He used to pick off the young, handsome ones, find them alone and ruin them. But that beast was full stuck on Dean from the moment he laid eyes on the man. 

>So… what did Big Al do? 

>Oh, tortured him. Every day, that beast would corner Dean and beat him. When that was no good, cuz, y’see, Dean was stubborn, he took to takin’ Dean in an ungodly way, if y’ken what I mean. 

>An ung- Oh my Lord! Do you mean he was raping him?! 

>*sound of fingers rapping agreement on table* Dean never said as much, but y’could see it. He came back beaten an’bloody most nights. Couldn’t sit neither. That man… he became hard, bitter, an’ full of hate. He went from a schoolboy to a rattlesnake. It was the saddest thing to see. 

>What happened then? 

>Dean couldn’ take it no more. He lured that man and shivved him right’n’proper til he was dead as doornails. They never caught him neither. Poor ole Scalley took the fall for that willingly, what with him being a lifer and all that. But Dean... he was still angry, swore revenge on The Walls. Even killed dumb ole McNabb for opening his trap. Azazel Wade McNabb were braggin’ bout Dean, saying he was his wife and such. Well, Dean didn’ take too kindly to that, y’know. Bump’d him for openin’ his kisser. Dean was hard boiled by that time. Like I said… he went from a kid to a hoodlum. Anger fueled his six and he were a live wire to hate. 

>That explains some things later on. What about Cas? 

>What ‘bout him? 

>Did you know about him at that point? 

>Ah, that. Yeh...Dean never shut up about his love. He had ladies linin’ up for that face, an’ he fell for that bird with the blue eyes. **_Never_ ** shut up about him. I dunno the whole story, but he did say he’d met the love of his life over a tasse of hot cocoa. 

>Is that so… 

>S’far as I know… that’s so. 

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NARRATION**

Dean Barrow Winchester knew he wasn’t the brightest man on the planet. He knew this like he knew that spring followed winter, and the touch of a woman was the closest he would ever get to God.

At least, he thought he knew that, until Castiel Parker Novak came into his life. 

He had rarely looked at another man seriously until that blue-eyed angel had dropped into his sights. Before Castiel, he had only sought them out for relations when he was a bit too drunk to control his actions and any bed was better than going home alone. But Castiel… that tousled dark hair, eyes like the Dallas summer skies, lips that begged to be kissed red and wet…it was as if God had packaged sex and put in one body for Dean to adore. That he was a man seemed not to matter to Dean’s libido; all he wanted was to lay his full claim on that pale, fresh flesh. 

He didn’t even care that Cas was married. Hell, he’d been with women in relationships; he even had the tattoos to prove it. 

But Cas was different. From the moment they had met, Cas had been different. Women had  always looked to him for support and guidance, but Cas just understood him. It was like he could read Dean’s mind, the need to escape from the doldrums of everyday life and seek out new adventures. It was as if they just slotted together and made a whole human being. 

Cas was the only thing keeping him afloat, the only person waiting for him that genuinely mattered.  Cas was who he thought of as Big Al beat and raped him. The only thing that kept him looking ahead when he was in the infirmary again with the cough. The only that kept him going when another young inmate, barely eighteen, was killed right in front of him, and he realized that could be him. He could be next. He had to be smarter than these bastards more ruthless, more willing to take big risks. Plainly, more cunning than these assholes. He plotted and waited for Cas’s letters, each a balm on his torn soul. 

 **Correspondence from Castiel to Dean in Eastham**  

 

 

> **30 Apr 1930**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
> Dean Barrow Winchester  
>  ℅ Eastham Prison Farm  
>  Houston, TX
> 
> My dearest Dean, 
> 
> How are you tonight? I am feeling incredibly blue. It pains me that our one kiss is the one that will have to warm me for the next fourteen years. I can’t even fathom living without you for that long! I hope your mother succeeds in freeing you soon. I miss you so much.
> 
> As you know, things are hard in the job market still. I have had difficulty finding a new position, but apparently my gentle manner and handsome looks are good for something. I have been finding positions as a waiter in some restaurants. Things are looking up, I think.
> 
> But I can’t imagine that it has been any easier for you, locked away from all those you love. I see your mother once in a while. I stop by, but it is awkward, what with Sam having escaped prison just last month and now on the run. And now you’ve been sent to Eastham. It was hard enough getting to see you in Waco, but Eastham is so different. They won’t allow me to visit, since I’m not your wife or family.
> 
> Momma has been pestering me to forget about you, Dean. Every day, she tells me how you’re going to ruin my life, and that I’m too young to really know what love is. She also tells me that she knows better than I do what it is to be young and in love.
> 
> I’m sure that everyone who currently walks the earth can appreciate that I rather doubt her. She’s grown old and she’s so unhappy all the time, how can she possibly know what it is to be in love? To remember the sparkling church that is your body, with the green stained glass eyes, the paintings of saints in your freckles, and to kneel and worship every part of you? Am I allowed to say that? We had so little time together, I certainly didn’t get my fill of you.
> 
> Do you miss me, darling?
> 
> Otherwise, Anna sends her regards. She is somehow still in school and doing well.
> 
> How are you, my darling? I pray you are well.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

> **2 Sept 1930**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
>   
>  Dean Barrow Winchester  
>  ℅ Eastham Prison Farm  
>  Houston, TX
> 
> Dear Dean,
> 
> I haven’t heard from you in a long time. I’m saddened and afraid of your silence. Momma still refuses to allow me out on my own after the last time I ran away to Waco. That was months ago! How long can she keep me prisoner?
> 
> Worse yet, she insists on taking me to church, where Pastor Raphael Goodman nags at me about the state of my soul. It’s as if they intend on removing all my thoughts of you and replacing them with fluff.
> 
> The nights have become long and even longer without you by my side. I sometimes wonder if I get arrested, will I be locked up with you? Would that be so bad? But don’t worry about it. I have no plans to be locked up.
> 
> I am waiting here for you, and hoping that you will go straight instead of me going down the crooked road. Every day we are apart, Dean, I can only think about you being free and us traveling as we have talked about. Perhaps move out to California and near an ocean. Wouldn’t that be nice?
> 
> In brighter news, Anna has been stepping out with a young man. He seems nice, a dentist by all accounts. He is a thin twig of a man with interesting features that’s just this side shy of good looking. But he makes odd jokes and occasionally entertains us using sock puppets. I think you will like him when you get out. He’s a good fella.
> 
> How are things in the hoosegow, beloved? Is Benny still with you? I am so glad I was able to at least meet him before the two of you were sent off to Eastham. His accent was funny, but please tell him that if he ever refers to me as a “crazy aunt” again, I will sock him in the eye. I am not related to that ex-Cajun idiot. Still, I’m grateful you have a companion.
> 
> Yours...
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

> **12 Oct 1930**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
> Dean Barrow Winchester  
>  ℅ Eastham Prison Farm  
>  Houston, TX
> 
>   
>  Dean,
> 
> I can’t imagine what is keeping you from writing me. Have you forgotten me, or has prison life poisoned you against me?
> 
> I’m guessing at this point I will never know.
> 
> The Autumn Festival is very soon, and Momma has asked me to escort the Missus Rachel Truman to view it. She is a fine young lady, a niece of Pastor Goodman. Her hair is a moderate brown. Her eyes are a moderate blue. Her height is moderate, as is her attitude and mind. She is possibly the most boring person I have yet to meet in this life.
> 
> Will you really desert me? I miss you so much.
> 
> Yesterday, a young gentleman came into the restaurant and flirted outrageously with me. He was really kind, but his eyes were just a faded blue and his smile was shy, not cocky and arrogant as the smiles I am apparently partial to. His name was Inias and he asked me out later. I did mention I was married, but this didn’t seem to deter him. That, my love, is rather off putting.
> 
> I ended up walking with him to the park where we had a pleasant chat. Well, it was pleasant until he tried to kiss me and then I had to pop him one to stop him.
> 
> I am not trying to make you jealous, but that was my day. It was extremely annoying.
> 
> I love you,
> 
> Cas
> 
> PS: You missed my birthday, you assbutt. 

**Correspondence from Dean to Castiel from Eastham**  

 

 

> **12 Dec 1930**
> 
> Dean Barrow Winchester  
>  ℅ Eastham Prison Farm  
>  Houston, TX
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX 
> 
> My dearest Cas:
> 
> I’m sorry I didn’t write you sooner. You know I love you, right? But things are very hard for me here in the Walls, baby. Please, don’t be mad at me. You’re the only thing keeping me sane in this Hell I’ve been sent to.
> 
> Benny is here with me, and we have been trying to survive this place. He had warned me somewhat, since this is his second turn in this joint, but I thought I was tough enough to not believe him. I am thinking that was foolish of me, and I have repented on that thought.
> 
> The laws here are not kind. They are given to beating a man for so much as looking. If I were a god-fearing man, I would say this was punishment for my life of wrong doings, and if there was a god, then this would be Hell.
> 
> Yesterday we were set to chop up some of the cotton bushes to make room for the new crops in spring. One of the lads was not watching himself, and his tool flew from his hand. The laws set upon him like rabid dogs, and, when they let go, the boy was dead as doornails. They made us gather up the body, and it was like hefting a bag of wood chips, they had beaten the man so badly.
> 
> If I ever get out of here, I promise you that I will never come back. I’ll die first.
> 
> I am powerful sorry that I forgot your birthday. I have been getting used The Walls, and one of the lifers here has his eye on me. It has made things difficult.
> 
> I got to see my mama just the other day, though, so that was nice. She told me she saw you recently, like the day before her visit. It’s kind of you to look in on her occasionally. She said you had brought her a pie, which was a surprise. She had smiled at me, and snuck me a piece. Oh, baby, I haven’t had pie since I was locked up. It was so good. Thank you for thinking of me.
> 
> I will try to go straight for you, baby. I will try the up and up and see how it suits, but I cannot promise it will stick. But I can promise I will never come back to the Walls. I promise that I will die first.
> 
> And if I’m dead, I’d rather it be in the arms of my angel. Please, baby, don’t leave me. I haven’t heard from you in two months and my heart is breaking.
> 
> Crazy about you,
> 
>   
> Dean

**Correspondence from Castiel to Dean in Eastham**   

 

 

> **24 Dec 1930**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
> Dean Barrow Winchester  
>  ℅ Eastham Prison Farm  
>  Houston, TX
> 
> My Dearest Dean:
> 
> It grieves me that you suffer. Although I am forced to go walking with these women, Momma does forget that I am married and have no intentions of divorcing Meg. This works somewhat to my benefit as she can not wed me off to better prospects, that being the fine Miss Truman. As you would say, you’d think she shat gold for all her snobbery. I honestly have no patience for her desire to bear babies and stay at home knitting.
> 
> Knitting, beloved, is surely the most tedious task a person can be set to, and I include reading Psalms out to Momma and her little flock of hens she calls friends. The Missus Felicity Biggs, the Missus Dora Havenport, and the Missus Rebecca Goodings, who is a minister’s wife and refuses to shut up about her prayer group called “The Penitents.” Honestly, I’m scared I will be forced into getting a divorce, as Momma wants, and pushed into marriage with Miss Truman.
> 
> I cannot do it. Dean, please. Come home soon.
> 
> I love and miss you,
> 
> Cas 

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NARRATION**

Almost two years had already passed since Dean had been first brought to The Walls. Tired of waiting for a reduction in his sentence, of not seeing Cas, desperate to escape the fields, he hatched a plan.

“Jake, you have to do this for me.”

“No way, son.”

“C’mon! Just two… it’ll lay me up and they won’t send me back to the fields. I… I really can’t do it any more.”

Jake looked over at his friend in his striped uniform, covered in dirt and sweat, his green eyes pleading and just a little crazy. He hadn’t been the same since he shivved Big Al last year and let Sculley take the fall. That he was still getting unwanted sexual attention from the other inmates rode him like a devil. His “cocksucking lips,” feminine features, and thin body led others to believe he was easy prey. That was far from true, as Big Al discovered.

To hear him talk, though, there was only one person he wanted, and Jake had to wonder what this “Castiel” was like to linger like a guardian angel in Dean’s few peaceful dreams. This “love of my life” romance shit was not like the Dean that Jake had gotten to know in Eastham, but it was the only time his face changed from the hard, focused mask of wrath back into the softer look of a man in love.

Dean held out the small axe and shook it. “C’mon. You gotta help me out.” Since they were in the fields, the riders were wandering down the rows of cotton, watching the men trim down the bushes and cut them down to be disposed of, preparing the fields for spring planting. Several of the men had small hand axes to chop the dense bushes down. Some had shovels to uproot the plants for disassembling, and others were loading the pieces into a wagon to be taken to the incinerator.

The Eastham Prison Farm was exactly that: a farm. It had been developed based on the Southern Plantations, and the inmates were worked to grow crops or work paid labor for the prison. Just like on plantations, men rode on horses to swiftly reprimand fraternization on the job or laziness. One man two week earlier had been beaten to near to death for talking out of line to a rider, and when he tried to fight back, the rifleman’s shot took out his head. It had been a gruesome death, and Dean had added the scenario to his own set of Big Al nightmares.

Uncomfortable, Jake backed off, hands in the air. “I’m not doing it, man. My string of thefts did not set me up to cut a fella like that. Find someone else.”

“Shit.”

Their work area was hardly empty of people, but there were very few men he would trust to take only a couple of toes.

“Hey, what about Crowley?”

Jake paused in his work to look over at Dean. He was jerking his thumb behind him, pointing at Crowley. Crowley was a nice enough fellow, Scottish in origin, and was always willing to make a deal. He was also the man to know to get goods smuggled in, like cigarettes, magazines, or booze.

In contrast, Dean had a pretty bad temper, fast fists, and a chip on his shoulder to boot. Because of his eagerness to pick a fight, many inmates would gladly cleave his head from his body and he couldn’t trust just anyone to do this for him.

“I doubt he’s going to be able to do it now, Dean.”

Green eyes pierced through Jake with enough malice to still him for a moment and Jake was again reminded that Dean had changed in his time at Eastham, and none for the better. It had gotten worse when Benny had gotten that conditional pardon last year and had flown the coop. “I’ll have it done now. I need off this work chain!” He hissed. He hefted the hand axe. “It must look like an accident and I can’t do it myself!”

Jake nodded. He looked to the nearest rider, holding his whip to his shoulder, and over by the end of the work chain. The riflemen were changing shifts, it looked like. It was his chance. Dean slowly made his way over to Crowley, keeping his head down.

Not five minutes later, there was a loud crack and a scream of pain, and Jake knew that Dean had made his deal.

The riders made their way over to investigate, and Dean was screaming his head off, swearing like a sailor, his left foot bloody and Crowley holding the end of a boot with what looked like toes still tucked in it. Jake did not like the small smirk on the leprechaun's face. 

* * *

**02 Feb 1932: The Conditional Parole of Dean Barrow Winchester**

Dean spent the next few days in the infirmary in pain. He had lost two toes on his left foot for his trouble.

So, it was with mixed feelings that Dean found himself released from the facility, his mother and his condition winning him his parole and 'conditional' freedom on February 2, 1932.

He hobbled out of Eastham on his crutches as quickly as he could, in intense pain and regretting he had sacrificed two toes. But, he was just happy to see Cas waiting with his mother outside the walls of the prison, and that almost made up for it.

Mary Barrow Winchester was still a beautiful woman, although her skin was tired from working at the filling station the family owned and trying to hold together their rambunctious family. Her graying blond hair tied into a bun under her hat, her blue eyes not a bit faded from the years of hardship they endured, nor by having two of her sons in and out of prison for the last five years and more.

He hugged his mother tightly, kissing her head thankfully, tears in his eyes. But when he turned to Cas, he swept him into his arms and kissed him as fully and deeply as he could. “I missed you, angel,” he whispered in his mouth, green eyes burning into him. Cas just pecked kisses all over his face and hugged him tightly.

“Never again,” Dean murmured against the soft, dark hair. “They’ll have to kill me first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to chop the chapters into more reasonable sizes.


	4. The First Time for Everything (CH 3A)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings of the Barrow Winchester Gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken up because it's a lot... but all the firsts.
> 
> YouTube link available for song, so click the link. :P

**AUTHOR’S NOTE:**

The Myth of Cas and Dean has been built up around the idea that Cas was a murderer. Cas himself never killed anyone, according to witnesses and his own journal. But he was definitely an accomplice.

Definitely his hands were dirty, and just as covered in blood as Dean Barrow Winchester’s.

* * *

**Taken from Castiel’s Journal**

### 10 Feb 1932

My poor baby has been down since he got out of Eastham. He looks so ragged and angry all the time. I know his foot hurts, but he snaps at everyone. Whenever I sleep with him, he wakes up with nightmares and, when he comes to himself, he sometimes breaks down in my arms in tears, refusing to say anything.

I also mistakenly thought the moment he sprung free of prison he would finally lay with me, that we would finally become one. We never did get to have sex the way I wanted to, and now I’m not sure if we will. He gets very handsy and then, suddenly, he goes crazed and shoves me away.

What exactly happened to him in prison? I don’t know, and he won’t talk to me about it.

But, still, to touch and kiss him is a miracle. He’s thin from his time, but his shoulders and back have become very strong, his abdomen is all muscle, and his legs are powerful. He’s beautiful. There are even more freckles on his face and I can hardly sleep some nights, because counting them obsesses me.

While he convalesces, I spend the afternoons with him, holding his hand as he impatiently waits for his foot to heal. There are lines on his face, around his eyes and mouth that weren’t there before, and sometimes he looks feral.

He also swears revenge on Eastham. His hatred is frightening, yet breathtaking. Those green eyes glow like a demon’s, all rage and vengeance, in a polished mask of hatred and malice. If only it didn’t make him more beautiful, I’m sure I could walk away. Instead, it takes my breath away, he looks so powerful.

Sometimes we sit under the Bur oak behind the Winchester house, snuggled together to keep warm. His father peers out, all narrow eyes and disapproval, but he says nothing since Dean has been keeping out of trouble. His older brother, Sammy, however, is apparently still finishing up time for a burglary in Denton. His wife, Ruby, stops by once in a while to see how Dean is doing to report it to Sammy. I’ve not met Sammy yet, but it sounds like he was the one who got up to high jinks and involved Dean in it.

### 25 Feb 1932

Dean is nearly completely healed. He had been having some problems finding a decent job since the coppers keep pestering him wherever he works and nothing is keeping his interest. That anger that throbs beneath his skin makes him snap easily. That’s led to him being “let off” more than a couple of times. Why can’t they just leave him alone?

I have taken up a new job as a waiter at a fancy new restaurant in town, where there are a lot of wealthy immigrants, mostly gangsters. The swells pay well and my rudimentary Russian, Italian, and French are working out for me. I’m getting paid a fair wage, but not anything extreme. It’s enough to get us our own place, though. Dean finds it humiliating, though, that I am the main breadwinner. I suspect he will snap soon.

Since we have our own place, though, things have improved. Dean has become more openly affectionate again. We have been good together. 

### 26 Feb 1932

I can barely breathe much less confess this... But I want to write it down before I forget everything.

I had the evening off today, so I planned to make dinner for the two of us. I prepared some burger patties made with oats, egg, salt, pepper, and onion for Dean’s arrival and even managed to get some bread.

He came home in a relatively good mood from his mechanic job, still smelling like grease and smoke although he had changed clothes and was wearing his street clothes: rough trousers with suspenders, a course cotton shirt, and his work boots. He had had a new [Ford V8 Model 18](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1932_Ford#mediaviewer/File:1932-Ford-V8.jpg) come in for maintenance, and he loves the V8s; they're his absolute favorites. He even got more excited about the burgers, since they were a bit of a luxury for us. We ate in relative silence, and he moaned and groaned through his burger like it was sinful. I felt myself blush through the whole meal, but I was happy to hear him enjoy it.

Afterward, Dean mentioned his foot was feeling much better. Those gorgeous lips curled into a wicked grin, and I wondered what he was up to. He took me by the hand, like he had all that time ago, and began to sway with me around our crowded little apartment, humming “[Pretty Baby, Pardon Me](http://youtu.be/nPGZvqXUy4k).” 

Hello, hello, hello, just look who's here,  
hello, hello, hello, oh dear oh dear;  
it seems to me that I've met you before.  
I know, I know, I know it must be you  
I plainly recognize those eyes of blue;  
If I'm mistaken, honey don't get sore.

Pardon me pretty baby  
is it yes is it no is it maybe?  
Pardon me, pretty baby,  
don't I look familiar to you?

Aw come on, get acquainted,  
there's a bench in the park newly painted,  
great idea, honey ain't it,  
well at least it's something to do.

Was it summer when I met you.  
was it underneath the moon?  
Was it London, were we golfing?  
How could you forget so soon.  
by the way, how's your mother,  
and your dad and your sis  
and your brother?

Pardon me, you’re an other,  
don't I look familiar to you?

He danced me around the room, singing in his husky voice, until we were both laughing and breathless. And then he looked down at me and kissed me lightly, his green eyes serious. He said, “Gee, Cas...what did I do to deserve you?”

He kissed me again and again, each one deeper and making me want him even more. My hands slid up his body, still hard and muscled under my palms, and I could feel him rutting softly against me, each kiss getting more and more insistent. He finally tugged me to the bedroom, still hobbling faintly. He sat on the edge of the bed and drew me to him so I was straddling his lap, his warm hands calloused against my back as he removed my shirt and slid those palms over my body as if he couldn't believe that I was real.

He pulled my lips down to his, delicately despite his obvious excitement, and he shuddered out a breath as he asked, "Cas... Can I have you? All of you?"

Was this what he was waiting for? Permission?

I trapped that precious face between my palms and made sure to look into those unsure eyes. "Dean Chestnut Barrow Winchester... I can't give you my hand in marriage, even if I were unmarried. I can't give your pained heart the contentment it craves, or fill your pockets with gold. But this? This I can give you. The one thing I can give to you and only you."

He smiled and tugged me down into his embrace, kissing me as if I were precious. I relished, yet hated at the same time, that when I pulled off his shirt, I saw the evidence of his past loves in his tattoos. He twisted and I landed on my back on the bed with him partially on top of me. He kissed his way down my chest and removed my trousers with his hands, pulling them off and leaving me bare.

We had gotten this far before. We had held our erections together and rocked each other to orgasm. I have taken him into my mouth and tasted him on the back of my throat. He had rubbed himself between my thighs until we were both sated. We had come so close, but we had never fully consummated our relationship. Dean was always reluctant to do so, as if it bothered him for some reason.

He kissed my member tenderly, dropping those kisses along its length and dragging his tongue from base to tip. My breath hitched in my chest and I tried to hold back, to hold on as long as I could. But those clever fingers... He reached up and tucked them into my mouth even as he suckled my sex, wetting his fingertips before he reached down and slowly began to work a finger into my hole. I gasped and writhed under his touch.

“Are you okay, Cas?” The warm breath against my erection made me shiver and I managed to pant out, “Yes! Please! Dean!”

He pulled out the oil we had been using for our other sexual activities, and lubed his fingers generously. “Tell me if you don’t feel right,” he murmured before taking me back into his hot mouth. His tongue lasciviously swirled around the tip inside the moist cavern and I near came undone with just that. His chuckles vibrated down my length, and I choked back my adorations as he worked his finger back into my flesh, crooking his finger just right to touch that precious spot. My world suddenly focused on that one point, and I tried to say, “Dean” but I’m afraid it emerged a strangled sound.

He chuckled and I tried not to die as he inserted two fingers: they felt so good the way he moved them.

“I need you,” I managed to moan, my vision starting to go hazy.

He moved further up so we were chest to chest, keeping his fingertips in me as he looked into my eyes. Worry creased that handsome face, and I wondered what could have made him so hesitant to take me. “Cas… are you sure? We… we can stop here…”

No no no no. We _couldn’t_ stop there.

I must admit to being pushy here. I reached up and hugged him, pulling him down to me for a kiss. And, while he was distracted, I rolled us until I was on top. “I don’t want to stop,” I said, straddling his hips. “I want you.”

He smiled up at me and murmured, “My, I didn’t take you for bossy, Cas.” His hands moved up and down my thighs, the right pausing only briefly over my tattoo (“Cas and Meg.” I was young. What can I say?) and watching me align myself with his member. I settled onto him slowly, feeling the burn as I got used to his girth. When I was fully seated, I let out a low moan. He felt so right, so perfect. I felt myself clench as even moving a little sent shivers of pleasure through me. “Dear god, Dean,” I breathed out, “You are awesome!”

I was conscious of his lusty chuckle that tickled all the way up and through me. “I’ve heard that,” he said. “Now, angel, are you going to move, or should I?”

I looked down at my lover and smiled. His hair was tousled and kissing had made his lips red and swollen. As I watched, his tongue reflexively snuck out and licked those beautiful lips, leaving them wet and glistening. I reached out my hands and swiped my fingers over his nipples, and he arched under my touch, squirming when I finally took each nub between fingers and tweaked them hard. “Who do you think is in charge here, buddy?” I joked, clenching around him. He gasped, turning those dark eyes on me, his pupils blown into new moons in grassy green skies. “Me,” he growled, thrusting up into me hard enough to nearly unseat me.

Admittedly, I shouldn’t have squealed like a young girl, because the pleased look on his face nearly undid me. Biting my bottom lip and looking into those beloved eyes, I slowly rocked back and forth on top of him, each movement feeling incredible. It was as if I had found my perfect half, he fit into me so well. I felt his hands on my hips, those callused fingers digging into my hip bones almost painfully as he pulled me back down. He only allowed me these slow movements, this control for so long before he suddenly pulled me down along his body and rolled us onto my back. He had fallen out in the process, and, as he single handedly realigned himself and pushed in, he kissed me desperately. When he pushed in again, I had to gasp as he seated himself fully and groaned. “God, Cas, you feel so good…”

He bit lightly at my lips as I tried to remember how to breathe, his movements so slow and deliberate I wanted to kill him. “Damn it, Dean! Move faster!”

He chuckled into my shoulder, and I encouraged him by making him shift so I could put my legs on his shoulders. “If you don’t fuck me faster, I’m going to kill you,” I hissed.

He kissed my leg and finally, finally started moving faster. “Cas, I love you,” he breathed into the gasps and moans that lived in the gap between our bodies. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I tried to say, but my orgasm finally caught me, painting my chest and making me clench. The stuttering rhythm and shuddering breath signaled Dean’s own undoing, and, even as I was still in my own afterglow, I watched him come utterly undone inside me, the sensation of warmth in my ass perhaps not as sexy as I thought it might be, but still feeling as if I were owned from the inside out.

He laid panting on top of me, and I dropped more kisses onto his sweating head. “I’ll never leave you, Dean,” I whispered. “We have a profound bond that not even death will break.”

He chuckled, kissing my chest lovingly, and regrettably we fell asleep post-coitus, something I will not be doing again. I did not realize semen was quite that difficult to clean up after it dried.

### 26 Mar 1932

Momma showed up today to make sure I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was confused by her anger until she showed me a newspaper clipping from yesterday.

I was torn between rage and dismay when I saw that Dean had reunited with his old buddy, Andy Hamilton Gallagher, and staged a robbery at Sims Oil Co. out in Dallas. No one was hurt, and they had gotten away with $300, but… I was supposedly at the scene! At least that’s how it had been reported! “A beautiful dark-haired young man with bright blue eyes.”

I was so angry, I nearly exploded. Who was this young man who was supposed to be me? Was he cheating on me?

Momma was mad as hell, and said, “You didn’t perchance sneak out yesterday?”

Honestly, if I had the magic to get in and out of here, I would. But she received reassurance from Anna that I had been exactly where I should have been. Which is infuriating. I mean, I’m sitting right here, and she can’t believe me? If I had wings, could have flown free of this misery. Dean has not yet told me about this, but I do suppose he was busy with his friends and spending his loot.

I’m not mad. I’m not. But when I see him, we’ll see what hits his face first, my lips or my fist.  Bastard.

### 27 Mar 1932

Benny is meeting up with Dean this weekend. Dean told me that he tried to go straight, but the law was making it too hard on him, and that he couldn’t face another turn. I asked him not to meet with Benny, but he said they were just meeting to catch up and split the last takings. I doubt it. Dean has had this weird glint in his eye. I ended up lying to Momma about finding a new job. She knows that Dean has left his old job, but not about me leaving my old job and not finding a new one.

I’m dreading Benny’s coming back into our lives, but Dean just kisses me and hushes me. He makes love to me and calls me his “snuggle bunny,” which, if I’m honest, makes me feel all sweet inside and angry at the same time.

He’s also been talking to this blond girl who likes to hang out at his father’s gas station. Her name is Wilma Daniella Jones Harvelle, but she likes to go by Jo. Sometimes she likes to go by WD as her alias. She’s been picking up money by “entertaining” the older men around John Barrow Winchester’s station, despite how John tries to shoo her off. But she’s determined to get away from her mother. Ellen is a demanding woman, terrifying ever since the law took her husband Bill in a firefight. But Jo doesn’t care about that. She’s much younger than us. She admires Dean. I think she has a crush on him. It’s awkward.

But I don’t blame her. He’s beautiful.

**\---- Too damn early this morning (NOW 28 Mar) ----**

Dean washed in blotto this morning. He was grinning from ear to ear when he finally came through the door at 3AM. “We have a plan!” He said. “We’re going to get those bastards and free everyone from The Walls!”

This really sounds like a bad idea.

But then he starts kissing me, and he tastes like gin and limes, and my body betrays me by just giving into him.

It still sounds like a bad idea at 9AM as I sit here writing this.

Dean is still in bed, his hair all mussed from my fingers, his lips swollen, my love bites all over his shoulders and chest, and looking thoroughly fucked.

He’s leaving with Benny and Andy tomorrow. They’re talking about needing a bankroll to fund their siege on The Walls. I wish Dean had never seen that article about bank robberies in Minnesota. The fools.

Meanwhile, I have to find work.


	5. The First Time for Everything: On the Lam (CH 3B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First bank robbery. Cas's first incarceration. As usual, nothing goes exactly right. There are mules involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The bank robbery at Lawrence, KS](http://www2.ljworld.com/news/2011/sep/18/famous-criminal-clyde-barrow-may-have-gotten-start/) is not something I had to make up. Seriously. 
> 
> Otherwise, as stated, tried to stick to historical facts, but it still ended up a big, fat lie. Still, give me some love. I TRIED!!

* * *

**Correspondence from Dean to Castiel While on the Lam**  

 

> ### 30 Mar 1932 [Dean's First Successful Bank Robbery — Lawrence, KS]
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
> Dean Barrow Winchester  
>  Lawrence, KS 
> 
> My sweet angel,
> 
> How are you? I’ve been holed up with these two dewdroppers for the past few days and I’m tired. We’ve been pulling these small jobs, and I just miss you, baby. The money’s been nickel and dime stuff, all small change. We’re never going to get the clams we need for the raid.
> 
> I’ve also been looking at Benny’s old mug too long, and I need your baby blues back in my life. They razz me about how much I miss you, but they can both kiss mine. They don’t believe me when I start talking about how sweet you are to me. Especially Benny. Meanwhile, we both have to put up with Andy’s whining about his girl. That bird’s gotta quit singing about that old tomato, Tracy. He’s been spinning tales, and it got bad when Benny finally snapped, “Tell it to Sweeney, ye sap!”
> 
> I’m thinking we’re in too close quarters and getting tired of each other.
> 
> We were getting through Oklahoma when we realized that it was snowing further north. It’s April, but that apparently doesn’t stop Mother Nature from dropping ice on a city. Although the bank we had high hopes for looked good, there was too much snow and ice on the roads, and I worried about our get away. Reluctantly, we turned back towards Kansas and a bank we thought looked pretty good. So now we are currently bedding down in Lawrence, Kansas. A hotel called the Elderidge that’s right across from the bank, and, baby, it looks sweet.
> 
> There seems to be a lot of traffic, though. It’s our first time out for a bank, so we need to figure out how to manage all the money, the people, and the get away. I’m nervous. I can’t have it go south like the Simms job. We were expecting more money from that, although I was happy we even managed $300 with our luck that night.
> 
> This morning we saw the bank president walking in alone, and then the rest of the tellers walking in after. I wish you were here to help us figure out a plan. You always had a head for that sort of thing, baby.
> 
> I’ll write some more after we pull the job.
> 
> **31 Mar [same paper]**
> 
> Dearest angel,
> 
> We did it! Somehow we did it! I’m posting this from St. Louis because we didn’t want to get pinched, but we managed to pull it off and now we got 33 big ones! Like I said before, the bank president went in early, and we went to meet him at the door. All I had to do was show him my shotgun from under my overcoat and he folded like a cheap suit!
> 
> Benny had my back and, when two workers showed up, he showed him his own gun and they went in all quiet like. The president just opened the vault, no fuss, and we bagged the money, locking the people in the man’s office, and we ran out the front where Andy was waiting in the car! We didn’t stop until St. Louis, so that’s why the letter is posted out of there. We’re back on the road tomorrow morning.
> 
> Things are looking up, angel!
> 
> Be with you soon,
> 
> Dean
> 
> * * *
> 
> **2 Apr 1932**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
> My love,
> 
> On the outs with Andy right now. With the cabbage we sprung, we had planned to breach The Walls, but Andy copped out and said he didn’t know no cons on no farm. It’s a setback, but we gave him his cut and sent him off to his papa. Still feeling angry by the betrayal and I hope he chokes on that wad of green.
> 
> We’re gonna be forced to find us a few fellas to help us out, but don’t you worry your pretty little head, Cas. I’ll be home soon, right as rain.
> 
> Benny has an idea and knows a few folk in the area. I think we’re headed to Denton, and then maybe Electra, since that’s where Benny knows fellas. I’ll write you from there.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Dean
> 
> * * *
> 
> **15 Apr 1932**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  Dallas, TX
> 
> Honey, please don’t panic. The newspapers are making it sound worse than it was. Yeah, we got caught and took some hostages, but, look, no one died and we’re all still free. The problem is that the guy Benny knew for guns and bulletproof vests bilked us with bad gear. The guns don’t work right, the vests are as useful as a cotton shirt, and I know one of these new sonuvabitches we picked up is ratting on us to the law. I mean, we had lost most of our moolah to the bastard what sold us the gear, so we needed more. Benny and me, we planned out a double heist, since we had these new folks with us, but don’t it beat all when the law is sitting right up front, plain as day, waiting for us!
> 
> I was furious. Because of it, we started to sweat whether we needed more help. Benny said he knew two brothers out by Amarillo, and we decided to see if we could get them in.
> 
> And that’s how we ended up with three hostages, angel. The car we had broke down in Electra and we were eyeing one that looked good when two fellas came out suspicious like to see what we were up to. The one, Harries, didn’t like it and had called the cops. So there we were, wanted felons, and the cop driving up on us, saying he didn’t trust no drifters. He said he was going to take us in.
> 
> Baby, I’m sorry it scared you, but I’m not going back in the joint. I pulled my handgun and made them get into the car. Benny didn’t even flinch, just got in the driver’s seat and off we went.
> 
> And I did let them go. Right as rain, not a scratch on them. Even said sorry, like you said I should.
> 
> We got away, planning on heading back into Oklahoma, when the clunker died and we were stuck again. Benny said it was Murphy’s law, and I snapped Murphy was a douche.
> 
> Any way, long story short, we ended up stealing the mail car from this postman guy, Owens. You should have seen him, baby. He was a hoot! Calm as clams, just let us do what we wanted. I liked him so much, we let him ride with us for a bit. We promised to ditch the car somewhere folks would see it, and the cheeky guy said, “Can you burn it? The government will give me a brand-new one if it’s destroyed, and that one is near rust.”
> 
> I busted a gut laughing. I promised, and, after dropping him off safe, we ditched the car and burned it. I hope he gets that new car he wanted.
> 
> I’m on my way back, angel. I have a favor to ask you.
> 
> I can’t wait to get out of here.
> 
> Love you always,
> 
> Dean

* * *

**Taken From Castiel’s Journal  — Kaufman Jail  
(written in a small notebook from The First National Bank of Burkburnett, Texas, found in his belongings) **

### 19 Apr 1932 

I am terrified. I don’t know why I agreed or how it happened, but somehow I ended up in the car with Dean and Benny. But Dean is letting me be part of his life in a way Meg never let me. Meg tried to shelter me from bootlegging, but I would have preferred to be with her than without her. Dean lets me in on his secrets and I love that about him. So when he asked me to go with him, I didn’t even think about my own position, the job at the fine restaurant, or nothing. I just jumped into the car (it was a fine one too!) and off we went, just me, Benny, and Dean!

And, just as sudden, we were in the middle of a robbery. Dean and Benny were sorting out the details, and I was just listening, since I’d never done anything of the sort, when the cops came around the copse and Dean yelled, “Sonuvabitch!” Both he and Benny leaped into the car, waiting just long enough for me to regain my senses and jump in too!

We drove like the devil himself was behind us, but, somehow, Dean didn't realize how deep the mud was on the back road and the car got stuck! We had no time to free ourselves, and Benny got shot in the arm.

The cops followed us and I was actually shot at! They shot at me!

And when we ran out of bullets, we ran! We ran but… see… I didn’t think we were going to try and pull a robbery. I mean, Dean usually steals a car and then off we ride, no fuss on my part. I thought it was our usual joy riding and then back to the same. So I had on the fancy leather pats that I wore as part of my waiter uniform, and they had no grip at all on mud.

I slipped and fell into the mud, and Dean had to help me up and partly carry me, as I had twisted my ankle rather fiercely.

To make things worse, I knew Dean couldn’t stay with me. He had more to lose than I did, what with being just sprung from The Walls. Unable to do much, we found ourselves stealing reluctant mules from a farmer and damned but those asses refused to move!

We ended up taking refuge in a church. I looked over and Dean’s fine blue suit was covered in mud. He had also lost his hat somewhere in the field we’d run through. His green eyes burned angrily, as he felt himself cornered, and there was a set to his jaw I had never seen before. It was set like a stone, with the muscle jumping in fury. He hid us under the altar, our breaths coming out hard and fast from fleeing. “Baby, I’m going to run and see if they just follow me. You have to stay here, okay? I’ll come get you!”

I nodded and shivered because it was damned cold under the altar and I was completely wet. Dean pulled me in and kissed me hard, and I was torn between wanting to take him right there and wanting to cry out of fear. He released my lips, my Dean back in that face, soft and loving, and his warm, callused hand stroked over my cheek and jaw, brushing away drying mud as he did. “I love you,” he whispered, before running out the back of the church and into the wood on far side.

I would like to say I am a patient person, but, alas, I’m not. I tried to wait, but I was cold. The stone of the church was cold, even in the afternoon sun. I tried to keep myself occupied with the stain glass windows.

One of the pieces was of Jesus giving a sermon on the Mountain, and the window was made of shades of green glass, just like Dean’s eyes. And I waited, wondering if he would return.

Hours later, when I couldn’t take it any longer, I admit to sneaking out to the road, to see if he had recovered the car and was coming to get me. I ended up wandering to the highway, thinking if he didn’t spot me and pick me up, at least I could hitchhike back to town.

That was when the cops got me. We had been in that field and hiding for almost 18 hours! I couldn’t believe it! And, despite my denials, they booked me and forced me to call my family. Momma is coming to get me tomorrow. She’s going to be so angry.

They also got Benny. His shot arm keeps bleeding and he looks pale. At least I’ll have company.

### 20 Apr 1932

Things could not have gone worse with Momma. I’m ashamed to admit I started crying, she looked so disappointed in me. I usually wouldn’t cry, it isn’t manly, I know, but this is the first time I have actually been picked up for a crime and the first time I have seen such crushing disappointment on my Momma’s face.

The only thing worse would have been Gabriel’s taunting presence on top of Momma’s overwhelming disapproval. She didn’t even scold me. She just sat there quietly and wept.

I was grateful when they came for her, because I can only take so much guilt.

I’m to remain here for a few days, it seems. It’s my first offense, and it was a minor one, since I was just an “accessory," what with Benny claiming responsibility for everything. 

I'm definitely worried about Benny, though. It seems the fella we stole the getaway car from was the town doctor, and he was holding a grudge. He refused to treat the poor guy, although he was suffering a lot. It didn’t help people from the town were stopping by just to get a peek at us. I ripped part of my shirt tail to bandage Benny, but there's not much more I could do for him in the slammer.

 **2:30 PM**   **—** DW came to see me! He was sorry that he had left me behind. He promised to get me and Benny out. But Momma will likely kill me if I break out and end up on the run.

What do I do?

### 21 Apr 1932

I am duly informed that, although this is my first offense, stealing cars and mules, and planning a robbery are pretty big offenses, and I must wait for a jury trial in June. I am stuck in here until then. I have had no word from Dean, which is infuriating and I am kicking myself for letting those ~~gorgeous~~ ~~sinful~~ ~~delicious~~ lips convince me otherwise.

I am a fool. I was afraid to even ask Momma for bail, because I know we don’t have a lot of money. She didn’t even offer. Just gave me her disappointed gaze and wandered out of the jail.

 **5:32PM:** I was given news of DW. It was on the police wire that the Denton Sheriff’s Department led a raid on the Lake Dallas hideout. They caught two of the members, but Johnny, Ted, and Dean got away. Thank god!

Also heard all the guns and such got taken. Dean’ll be in a lather.

* * *

 **AUTHOR’S NOTE:** One of Cas’s two most famous poems were written while he was in Kaufman in the same small notebook.

[ **POEM: Suicide Sal (excerpt)** ](http://www.cinetropic.com/bonnieandclyde/sal.html)

We each of us have a good "alibi"  
For being down here in the "joint"  
But few of them really are justified  
If you get right down to the point.  
  
You've heard of a woman's glory  
Being spent on a "downright cur"  
Still you can't always judge the story  
As true, being told by her.  
  
As long as I've stayed on this "island"  
And heard "confidence tales" from each "gal"  
Only one seemed interesting and truthful-  
The story of "Suicide Sal"

....

* * *

### 23 Apr 1932

I am bored out of my mind. I will try and do some writing, but I am constantly on edge waiting to hear from Dean.

* * *

**Correspondence from Dean to Castiel in Kaufman Jail (The Kemp Calaboose)**

 

> **23 Apr 1932**
> 
> Castiel Parker Novak  
>  ℅ Kaufman County Jail  
>  Kaufman, TX
> 
> My dearest Cas,
> 
> How are you holding up? I'm sorry you somehow got caught up in the thing last month. That was not my intention and I don't wonder if you're not mad as nails at me? I mean, there was another person in the car, but it was just Jo. Crazy woman went off and cut off all her hair and is wearing men's suits like Charlie. She must've looked like you from a distance, although I can't imagine how. You're much more beautiful, you know?
> 
> Damn reporters got wind of another warm body in the car and blew it up to be you. How wrong could they be, since you’re safe and sound in Kaufman?
> 
> Any way, we spent some cash on clothing and shoes when we could find time to stop. I bought some silk shirts I'd been eyeing. I bought you a sweater vest and 100% silk tie to wear with your knickerbockers. I'm sure you'll look gorgeous. I can't wait to see you.
> 
> Actually, I can't wait to see them off of you. I miss you, baby. Don't worry, I'll keep my heels clean til you're free. ****
> 
> Love you,
> 
> Dean
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> **30 Apr 1932**  
>  Castiel Parker Novak  
>  ℅ Kaufman County Jail  
>  Kaufman, TX
> 
> My angel,
> 
> Jo's been weird since I’ve been seeing you. Sometimes wonder if she’s jealous. I mean, I'm not an idiot. I know she had taken to hanging around Dad’s filling station. She’s been trying to act more and more manly and trying to tempt me into her bed. It’s kind of disturbing.
> 
> Actually, by the time this gets to you, I’m sure you’ll know my news. See, I ran into Ted after you and Benny were snagged and put in that hole. We were in Hillsboro [TX] with Johnny and I thought of a small business I knew was doing pretty well. So, Ted agrees to it and I got Johnny on board to go check out the Bucher’s main jewelry store on the town square. I told Ted about the safe and stuff, and he was all ready to do it.
> 
> But I warned him that I had dealings with the Bucher’s kid and that the old lady would spot me fast, so he and Johnny were gonna have to go in alone.
> 
> And that, baby, was my biggest mistake. That palooka Ted went in and fucked it up. I heard a yell, the pop of a gun, and screaming, and I knew we were made.
> 
> Ted and Johnny came careening out of the store, Ted screaming, “DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE!”  And I put it in drive, sweating bullets as we hauled out of there.
> 
> I asked them what the hell happened, and Ted just sat there whimpering, “It was a mistake.”
> 
> And behind us, Johnny said, “I think the old guy’s dead.”
> 
> This was a shock and serious bad news. I didn’t want that.
> 
> When I got the story out of them later, Ted apparently panicked when the old man needed his glasses to open the safe and...the gun just went off.
> 
> Cas, whatever else I am, I have tried not to kill innocent people. I mean, I have been involved in many shady things, but killing folk that had no need to be dead was not one of them.
> 
> I’m a little worried about what this will mean with the law, though. They were already hot on my ass, but now… I don’t wonder if this ain’t going to make me famous.
> 
> See you soon, ****
> 
> Dean

* * *

**Taken from the Journal of Castiel Parker Novak** **—** **Kaufman County Jail**

### 2 May 1932

Dean is a god damn liar! He got fingered for that jewelry store crime and I’m stuck in jail awaiting trial! He promised to keep his heels clean of the law, but instead he went and stepped in a pile of manure!

I’m going to punch that man.

And then I’m going to kiss him until neither of us can breathe. I’ve been lonely in here. Benny has been moved to Wichita Falls for highway robbery and kidnapping. I tried not to laugh, since they sound so old fashioned any more. Highway robbery!

But it’s not very funny when I look around this jail and just wait for my trial. I miss my bed, my home, and my freedom. If this is just jail, I can’t even imagine what prison was like for Dean.

I had stopped smoking briefly, because I got better tips if I didn’t smell like cigarettes, but here in there’s nothing else to do but brood, wait, and smoke. I try to write and this poem I’ve been working on has gotten very long. My “Suicidal Sal” is a good girl at heart. Well, my family at least is providing me with cigarettes and changes of clothes or it would be very uncomfortable in here.

* * *


	6. Cas Rejoins the Barrow Winchester Gang (CH 4)

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

It has been said that the Bucher murder was a turning point for Dean. From that moment on, he was very aware of the law on his tail. Cas was still in jail until June of 1932, when he was released by the jury. Despite his lack of criminal history and there being no evidence, it's said his slim build and innocent-looking eyes swayed their decision. He was, after all, a beauty.

Meanwhile, Benny Fults Lafitte was found guilty on all charges, as he took the fall for Cas’s actions, saying he and Dean had forced him into it. After all, what sort of fool wears his best patent leather shoes to commit crimes? Especially when Dean and Benny were partial to work boots during a job. This was mostly due to his missing toes, as the curve of oxfords tended to hurt Dean’s foot. So even if he loved to drive the best and fastest Fords he could steal, he had to drive without his shoe to shift, and he ruined many socks in the process.

Regardless, it is my opinion that Dean’s next big mistake was the murder of Deputy Sheriff Eugene Moore at a dance with alcohol present and a noise complaint. Moore arrived at the dance with Sheriff C.G.Maxwell in Stringtown, Oklahoma. Moore approached the vehicle and they opened fire, Moore dying immediately of a gunshot wound to the head; Maxwell barely surviving his gut shots.

Again, it was rumored that Cas was with them, but Cas was actually in Dallas with his mother. Dean had been with Andy again, doing small time thefts and robberies, mostly holding up gas stations and “mom and pop” stores, but the murder of Bucher at the jewelry shop hung over their heads, thanks to Mrs. Bucher wrongly identifying Andy as Dean’s murderous buddy that night, instead of Ted. Dean, of course, was identified because Mrs. Bucher recognized him, just as he had feared.

And yet, despite all the setbacks and losses, human and otherwise, Dean continued to be obsessed with The Walls.

* * *

> _  
> "I don't think, in his heart, that Castiel would have ever come home to stay again, even if Dean hadn't become a murderer. He loved him so madly, so insanely and so without rhyme or reason, that he would have stayed with him anyway, no matter what came. He made his little excuses to me to make me feel better, and perhaps at that particular moment he did feel that he wouldn't have gone on if there'd been any turning back." — Naomi Parker Novak, Kristy Cowan Barrow — Fugitives: The True Story of Dean Barrow Winchester and Castiel Parker Novak._

**Taken from Castiel's Journal — On the Road**  

### 2 January 1933

Time seems to have flown since I rejoined Dean and the gang. After that incident at the dance hall, he came back for me. He was a little upset, but nowhere as upset as the jewelry store death.

I was so happy to see him then, glad that he came back for me.

Even though we don’t have as much time for ourselves, I make him have time. Or, sometimes he makes time, ignoring the jibes and jokes the others throw at us. They tried calling me a ‘sissy’ for about one minute before I laid into Frank with my fists. I understand it’s Texas and we’re not exactly as cosmopolitan as New York, but it’s unnecessary!

I mean, I love Dean. It’s not like I could control how far I fell or how much I feel for those green eyes and confident smile. Despite all the murder, theft, and general crime, he makes sure to visit his family every now and again, especially his mother. He gives what money he can to his family, and he checks on how Sam is doing. He also makes sure I see my family, although Momma just cries quietly most of the time, since I’m now a wanted criminal.

I reassure her that I haven’t killed anyone, and I don’t plan to. I really don’t like guns. I mostly reload the weapons and help carry things.

I’m not sure she believes me.

There have, admittedly, been some mistakes. Dean swears to me they didn’t hit S.R. Little’s Grocery, so the man’s death wasn’t on his hands. I believe him, no matter what the cops say, because Dean always admits to his wrong doings, and he doesn’t like to kill people. He does if he has to (and it’s been getting easier for him, and that’s so scary, but I can’t tell him that) but he doesn’t go out seeking to murder folks.

Then that persistent salesman, Doyle Johnson… he only has himself to blame. What kind of fool tries to stop armed men from taking his vehicle?

Well, actually, I fully blame this one on Jo. She was trying to impress Dean by trying to pinch the car on her own, but she got caught out by the owner when it wouldn’t start, a shrill woman who started screaming bloody murder. So, of course, Johnson came pelting out and grabbed Dean by the arm, something he never takes kindly to, and yells out, “Call the police!” And there was some cheek on that fella, because he held onto Dean. And Dean didn’t really want to hurt him, you know, so he wrestled to get away, forgetting Jo is in the car. So it was a bit of surprise for everyone when she shot up like jack-in-the-box and plugged the kid in the neck during the struggle. I got scared and picked them up in the new Ford V8 we had nicked, (See, Dean liked the Ford V8. Kept calling the things “Impala” because they seemed to take off at a jump, unlike the old cars the law used) and off we went. And thankfully, the V8  is much faster than the cars the law likes to ride in and now we were in a car chase.

So there I was, trying to get us away from the cops, with Jo and Dean next to me as we’re on the run, and Jo started acting up, crawling up into his lap, and kissing on Dean and stuff. I can see her pressing her mouth on his, sticking her tongue down his throat, those thin hands literally covered in blood trying to wind behind his neck.

And there I was, too busy looking out the back, making sure the law wasn’t on us.

And there was Dean, struggling to keep Jo off his lap, with her hat lost,and her tan overcoat, white shirt and navy blue herringbone suit now splattered with blood. Blood was dripping patterns over her pale skin, into the curls of her ears, and down into her shirt collar, likely to pool there in the crease between her throat and stiff white cloth. It was never going to come out.

Desperate green eyes tried to catch mine over the frantic blond in his lap, and I realized that she’d been affected by her first murder. Although she was no virgin to the criminal life, this was her first.

I mean, I didn’t know that the man was dead, but I saw him clutch his neck and blood spurt out like champagne from a shaken bottle, so I’m pretty sure that’s what the newspaper will say tomorrow: dead.

For that moment, I knew that Jo was trying to hold herself together, that she was turning her nerves about death and cops into lust, and if I hadn’t known that she had been ‘entertaining’ men before she managed to get on the floorboard on her knees, only to have Dean protest and drag her back up, I would have known then.

I never understood why Dean had brought her along, although he said she was like a little sister he never wanted. A little sister, I always thought, that wanted in his pants badly enough to change her mannerisms and clothing choices. I don’t have issue with mannish women, but I have issue with Jo’s persistent chasing of my man.

Again, those eyes tried to catch mine, but the cops were still in pursuit, and there’s Dean with a woman all over him.

“This one time,” I gritted out, my hand gripping the gear shift so hard my knuckles turned white. The cops were falling behind us, and I took a turn sharply, causing the blonde on the floor to gasp and Dean to groan, “Cas! Be careful!”

“There are a plague of lawmen behind us, and you want me to be careful?” The blonde had gone back to worshiping Dean’s lips. I snapped my eyes to catch green eyes with blown pupils and swimming in guilt. “Sorry to interrupt your party!’

To be fair, Dean hadn’t asked for this, and the excitement and fear that ran through him after these jobs did general make him horny. 

When I took the next turn a bit too sharply, Jo fell against the door, banging her head against the window with a loud bang.

Served the baggage right.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE** : Odell Chambless had robbed a bank and the police had gotten information that he was planning to go to the home of Andy Hamilton Gallagher’s little sister, Lillie. It was a known safe house in the Dallas area. Dean just had really bad luck and fell into the trap.

* * *

 

### 6 Jan, 1933

I am starting to believe that Andy Hamilton Gallagher is nothing but a walking piece of bad luck.

Somehow, I’m not sure how the law got wind of the trip Dean decided to take to see Andy’s sister, Lillie. She had recently gone to see Andy, and Dean wanted to know how he was doing.

I don’t know why, but I guess they decided to stake out the house. So there we are, in this stolen coupe that Dean had fallen in love with, Jo and me in the car, and Dean wants to make sure Andy is fine and he knows we’re going to break him out soon.

We all saw the laws’ car sitting out by the side road, and I said, “Let’s just run. Andy’ll be fine.”

But Dean wanted to be sure; said that prison was no home for any fellow. But something seemed off about the house, and Dean said suspiciously, “Cas, take the wheel. I’m going to check it out.”

So he climbed out, wearing his tan hat, his gloved hands in his coat pockets, and shotgun hidden under his black overcoat, as he approached the house.

That’s when Maggie opened the door and screamed, “Don’t shoot! Think of my babies!”

That’s when we all saw the shadow in the window, and Dean let off a warning shot. “Get back,” he warned, backing up. “Don’t come any closer!”

But the lawman stepped out and kept moving towards Dean, and Dean fell back onto his ass, the shotgun going off in his hand and hitting the lawman in the chest full on. The man staggered and fell onto his back on the porch, dead.

Meanwhile, more fuzz were coming round the front of the house. Jo fired a few shots at them, nothing that would hit, and I yelled, “Dean!”

Dean was mildly stunned by the close call, but he scrambled up and jumped onto the running board of the car, hissing, “Drive!”

The car tires made desperate traction sounds against the gravel as I stomped on the gas, the coupe not quite meeting my demands for speed. Or meeting the road, more likely.

We arrived at our own safe house, a small abandoned farm house that was on the edge of the suburb, a bit shaken by having cut it so close, Dean looking slightly shell shocked, and Jo looking aroused as these adventures appeared to constantly make her. I pushed her out of the damn bedroom, telling her to get a fire going, and found Dean sitting on the pallet we were using for a bed with his hands around his head, his blood-soaked overcoat and gloves thrown on the floor.

From across the room, I heard him say in a subdued tone, “I didn’t mean to kill him, Cas.”

“I know.” And I did. Dean tried to avoid it, but lately it seemed to happen even more frequently than was comfortable for any of us.

“I told him to get back,” he said hoarsely, rubbing his hands up and down his face, smearing the few drops blood that had gotten on his skin. His hat had also gone missing, so he was sitting here in just his suit, his breath curling around him in a translucent mist.

I moved in front of him and took that precious face between my palms. “I know.” I whispered, dropping kisses on that dear face: those tired eyes; the barely fixed nose from its last break; those still beautiful pink lips that parted with small swallowed sobs.

In front of everyone else, Dean was a rattlesnake. In front of me, he was the young man I fell for, his heart strong, pretty face, and his soul electric and stunning. His hands shook minutely as he wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling against my abdomen. “I should have never involved you,” he whispered against the warm wool of the sweater vest he had bought me so long ago.

“Dean, I can’t live without you anymore,” I said, keeping a hand around the back of his neck, my fingers playing with the short hair above his shirt collar, and kept running my other hand up and down his shoulder to keep him warm. “I’ve chosen to be with you until we die, and, even, then, if I’m taken to Heaven, I’ll plead with God to let me bring my man. I’ll tell him, ‘he’s my sun. I can only glow under his light, like diamonds.’” I pressed a kiss onto the top of his head again. “Dean, I've seen so much more of the world since I met you, and you’ve lit it up as my stage now! We’re channeling angels into the new age and I promise I won’t ever leave you!”

Dean laughed against my waist, and it vibrated up my skin. “Jesus, Cas,” he chuckled. “You’re such a damn sap.”

I pushed his chin up so those green eyes were looking up at me, and I said, “I might be a sap, but I mean every word, you boob.”

And then those hands were sliding under my vest and shirt, and I had to shiver, because it was cold. Kisses peppered my stomach and he also shivered from the cold. “It’s the coldest time of the night, Cas. Let's hurry it up.”

We undressed each other, shivering in the cold air, but still stealing kisses and making sure we were both unhurt. Our kisses were brief, reaffirming, his hands warm over the goosebumps that rose all over my skin.

I let him pull me into the covers, the pile of blankets that we took with us wherever we went. He pulled me in after him, both of us laughing at how much we wanted each other despite the cold.

And then he kissed me as if I held the secret to love locked in my soul, and if he could just touch that part of me, he would be whole. He would find the thing he had been searching for his entire life. He arched and rutted against me, and I moaned his name into his mouth.

“Would you still love me if I were nothing but a gas attendant,” he breathed into the arc between my ear and shoulder.

“I would love _ummm_ you if you had lost that whole foot. I would ahh love you until we were both old and _Ooh!_ gray. I would love you _ahhh_ if you dare die before me, _oh my god_ and I had years to mourn you until I _uhhhn_ slid into my own grave next to you.”

I felt him smile against my shoulder, loving that I was under his spell.

But there is something to be said for wintertime sex. The way a warm hand feels even more amazing against chilled flesh. The way chilled flesh sends thrills up warm flesh. The way huddling under the blanket and cuddling together into a slow writhing mass so no one’s hands or toes are left to get frozen leaves the heart warmer. The way that the slow slide between bodies from sweat feels like magic, like the meditative stuff indians talk about sometimes, when you ask them about sweat lodges. How our breaths mingles in the small space intimately, like we are two halves of one whole, our laughter shared in gentle chuckles. And, suddenly, every sensation is multiplied by the sheer effort of trying not to accidentally dislodge blankets and let your ass hang out to frostbite. The heat of lips on nipples, laving already stiff points. The feel of teeth against shoulders, nips against my chin and jaw before he strained his erection against mine, the slow rutting against me, his fist over our cocks, both of us fucking into it.

He whispered words of adoration into my mouth: “So beautiful, Cas. Want you so bad.” and “I love you so much, Cas. I’ll die before they separate us again.”

The rapid, heated power sex we usually had was, in winter, a slow dance of hands and lips, his fingers delicately smoothed over my ass and touching my hole with reverence.

“Dean, please,” I sobbed into his mouth, hooking my ankles behind his back, and he nodded.

“I got you, Cas,” he whispered into the notch in my throat, dipping his tongue into it, dropping kisses over my chest as he positioned himself.

He pushed just enough to breach me, the pain slight, and he waited for me to get used to it. Instead, I pushed back, trying to take in all of him in one go. He chuckled and nipped my lower lip. “Impatient, darling?”

“Just fuck me already,” I growled as he teasingly pushed in slowly, tantalizingly slowly.  “Jeez, Dean, fuck me already!” I didn’t mean to bite his shoulder, but he yelped and snapped his hips forward and it was the best feeling ever: being completely connected to the man I loved.

“I love you, Dean,” I groaned, head thrown back against the feeling of him inside of me. He started to move and I sighed out his name and praises. Moving together, mixing our heat, I came first, spilling between us, and he came in me, sobbing my name. He clung to me for a moment, whimpering, to me, only for me, “I didn’t mean to, Cas.”

“I know, beloved. I know.”


	7. The Infamous Gay Lovers as Seen In Film (CH 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The famous raid at Joplin, MO.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Back then, crimes didn't cross states. Not until later, after the formation and _actual_ mobilization of the FBI. This helped to confuse police who could not chase the criminals into other states, and if someone wasn't wanted in, say, New Jersey, but was wanted in New York, they could flee to New Jersey and stay, as long as they weren't caught. It should be noted that Dean was a good escape artist more than a criminal. He not only used the lack of interstate law to flee crimes, he also used the newly built interstates and highways to get between states quickly. He also constantly stole the newest and most powerful Fords to make their getaways in, as the police rarely had a powered-up V8 engine under their hood. Add that he drove at reckless speeds with panache, and it was no wonder they were never really caught.

* * *

### 3 Apr 1933

Dean has been excited all week. It’s been infectious, as he has settled us in an apartment here above a two car garage in Joplin [Missouri]. We’ve (well, he’s) been busy with a series of robberies and I told him I wanted a break, and he wanted to catch up with his brother, so here we are.

The reason for Dean’s excitement is that Sam was recently released from prison. He had returned to serve out his time, after his wife, Ruby, found out he was on the lam. I couldn’t even imagine her being happy with that, but apparently she wanted him with clean heels. I don’t blame her, but I don’t understand her. Any way, Sam met up with us in Arkansas, and Dean decided to bring us out to Missouri since he wasn’t wanted in that state....

...and Sam is Dean’s older brother by seven years, and he’s the one who showed Dean how to resell stolen fowls. Sam has been telling me about it, about how clumsy Dean was while trying to carry turkeys. Sam is the largest man I have ever met, and I thought Dean was large enough! But Sam has to fold himself into the cars, and it’s hilarious. Still I wish I wasn’t laughing because now Dean is giving me the evil eye. Because… they were stealing turkeys and reselling them. The idea of Dean carrying a turkey on the run… ah, and it was one of the first crimes on Dean’s juvenile record…

...and I’m back. Dean wanted to know why I was laughing so hard, and I didn’t want to tell him. He ended up pinning me against the wall and kissing me into submission. I can’t even fight it; the man does me in.

So here I am, and I know that Sam and Ruby are in the kitchen, being all love struck and sappy.  Sam had gotten out and he wanted to visit with his little brother. They haven’t seen each other in two years. Dean, who looks up to him, was so excited, it’s adorable. I couldn’t tell him that. He’d skin me.

Ruby has been walking around too, taking photos of things with their Kodak, Jo following along with her. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean sit around and talk about their childhoods and how things have been. Time in the big house. Stuff like that. Sam seems very worried about Dean, his hazel eyes getting all sad, but Dean just guffaws at him.

Dean knows where this road is leading us. I know where the road is leading us. And like I told my family, I want us buried together.

Maybe the best part of this, though, is that Dean has also gotten ahold of the camera on occasion and has demanded we take photos. He has us taking photos, especially ones with him and his “babies.” By babies, I mean his guns. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but that man and his affection for weaponry is unnerving. He also has Jo taking pictures of us, and, the further along we got, the more silly our poses ended up being. I mean, I don’t smoke cigars, but I wanted to look tough and don’t know what possessed me to think a cigar made me look tough. I also was brandishing a .357 that Dean warned me not to drop on pain of death.

And then Dean tells Jo, “Get a picture of this!” Handing me the shotgun, he said, “Angel, pretend you’re arresting me.”

So we get next to the car (recently stolen) and I point the gun at him, and he’s got his hands up, but we’re all laughing.

We tucked the films in our rooms and didn't think on them too much. After all, we were taking care of family.

### 14 Apr 1933

I want to call yesterday the worst day ever; however, I suspect there are much worse days ahead.

Somehow, the law caught up to us in Joplin, and we (Sammy, Ruby, Jo, Dean, and I) barely made it out alive! We had to leave so many personal things behind, and Ruby has not stopped screaming about it, hours later.

We had barely escaped, and it was because Dean and Jo got back early and spotted the raid. Jo told me later that Dean hadn’t felt right about going scouting for a place to hit (money’s running low) and he had a bad feeling they needed to return that moment. And they did, with, I guess, mixed results.

Neither me, Ruby, nor Sam were prepared for the violence of machine guns. I mean, I even tried to shoot outside, but I’m a bad shot. If I had hit anything, it would've probably been a bird flying overhead.

But Sam grabbed me and dragged me away from the window I was at, fearing, I suppose, that I would get hit. It was only the fact that Dean has been enamored of BAR [Browning Automatic Rifle: a machine gun] that allowed us to do that. He and Jo kept shooting at the cops, and he screamed, “Cas! Get the guns! Forget everything else! Get in the car with them and Ruby! Hurry!” So I grabbed the weapons, and dragged Ruby into crawling into the back of the car.

Dean had threatened to pop her in the mouth if she didn't stop howling, and that made Sam extra angry. His wife is literally half his height, but three times as loud. I understood why Dean wanted to pop her, and Jo looked ready to just kill her.

But Sam is also extremely worried because Ruby had left her purse, and in it was their marriage license and Sam’s parole papers. They’re going to know they were there. Now, Sam’s going back to the slammer for breaking parole, if they’re caught. Ruby was utterly distraught.

Dean is only vaguely regretful. I can tell. He’s pleased to have his brother back with him.

We managed to get out with only Jo’s head wound being the worse injury. Although Dean was shot, it wasn’t deep. Sam just got scraped up and his freedom stolen. 

### 14 Apr 1933

In the newspaper today, we found out that two of the officers we were shooting at actually died. Dean feels vindicated, but Sam and Ruby are wrecked. (Realistically, we knew one of them was dead for sure.)

I realized last night that I had left behind the poem I had been working on. I’m so upset. It took me forever to get that cadence right.

The current issue was we were back in hiding, which was bad because Dean was hit by a ricochet and Jo had caught one in that skidded across her head. We were lucky that Jo’s bullet had just grazed her and not hit her in the brainpan.

Most of all, Sam has been oozing regret. He had dragged Ruby into the situation, and she wanted no truck with outlaws in the first place. Now, she was going to be wanted by the cops. She refused to speak to him, and just cried quietly in the corner of the car, the soft, wet sound of, “I just want to go home” bouncing in our heads.

Really, sister, who doesn’t? 

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE: Joplin, MO**

It was later discovered that the raid at the Joplin hideout was by pure accident on the part of the police. Although the Winchesters had garnered some interest and suspicion, it wasn’t for murder and bank robbery. It was for bootlegging, and the police were not prepared for the weaponry or ferocity of the cornered Winchesters. They lost two officers for that bit of incompetence, and, thanks to the help of the Joplin Globe Newspaper, the film rolls and goods inside of the apartment in Joplin became legendary.

Suddenly, Cas and Dean were infamous gay lovers, two beautiful men on the run from the law, a pair of Robin Hoods who were stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Although this was a complete misconception (they were extremely incompetent robbers and, what money they did give away, it was to their families), the myth stuck to them. The reality was that now they were definitely known by the general public, even Castiel who rarely picked up a gun and hated them. The photo of him, slim and gorgeous in his knickerbockers and patterned wool vest, a cigar clenched in his teeth and a snub-nosed .357 in his hand, made the rounds in all circles, the photos of Dean and Cas being intimate (kissing and hugging in ways that made it clear they were lovers) were the stuff of gossip, speculation, and wild fantasy. Pulp novels of two beautiful men on the run popped up on newsstands faster than you could shake a stick, and a new film was in discussion for production before those two even knew they were famous.

The reality for them, however, was harsh and nowhere near romantic.

In part, thanks to their fame, the gang was now forced to avoid people, such as at tourist camps, hotels, or cities in general. They slept in the car and bathed in rivers and streams. They were unable to go to restaurants and food was hard to come by when shopping was dangerous.

It’s hard to even conceive of them as “famous” so much as “notorious.” 

* * *

  **Correspondence from Dean Barrow Winchester (and Castiel) to Mary Winchester**

 

 

> Dean Barrow Winchester & Castiel Parker Novak
> 
>  
> 
> Mary Winchester  
>  Dallas, TX  
>  30 Apr 1933
> 
> Dear Momma,
> 
> I’m driving so Cas is going to write this for me. It’s something to do as we’re on the run and we’ve run out of things to chat about but here’s a tale that the newspapers are going to tell out any way.
> 
> So we were planning a new bank robbery to make some money because we were mighty low, when I spotted this keen black Ford V8 coach outside the funeral home. Well, I told Jo to just pull up near, and, sure enough, the keys were left in the ignition! We ditched ours, since it was a breath away from dying on us.
> 
> Jo went ahead and jumped in, started her up, we were impressed. That Ford V8 Coach was just the cat’s pajamas!
> 
> And off we went, and I look out and see this fella just hollering to scare the crows, running after us, all purple in the face.
> 
> I figure it’s the owner and hightail it, but the clever guts sees his missus in her own junker and jumps on, telling her to follow. And there was Cas, Jo, and I, running off in this fella’s car, and he’s hooting and hollering, about to flip his wig. But the old flivver they’re in can’t keep up with the smooth beast we’ve liberated, and you can tell they aren’t used to taking the curves as fast as we are, until they slowed down and actually turned back to town.
> 
> I said to Jo and Cas, “Let’s go take’em!” Mind, I meant no harm, and was just funning. We drove after them, wild, and boy! Were they scared! We chased them down to the side of the road, and suddenly the fella recognized who we were and was terrified. We packed them into the V8 and just chatted them for a bit. Found out that we were famous, and didn’t that just tickle Cas pink.
> 
> (No, it did not.)
> 
> But Darby (his name) was a real keen fella, even if Ms. Sophie Stone was no peach. She was cheeky, though, so Jo liked her right off. Both Cas and I talked to this Darby for a long while, and he was a kicker. Real fiery fella, all temper and mouth. I fell out laughing several times.
> 
> It was Cas who got Darby to tell us something of himself, as you know how smooth he can be. (I am not smooth.) Turned out Mr. Darby was 30 years old, same as Sam, and working as an undertaker in that there Ruston [Louisiana]. Cas thought this was high humor (I called it irony.) and said, “I surely hope you have the chance to work on us when our time comes!” (Somewhat.) As it happened, Darby said we had rudely interrupted his luncheon with our auto theft, and, we had to hand it to the fella, he was right indignant no matter what our reputations.
> 
> We dropped those two in Magnolia, Arkansas with $5 because that’s all we had left, seeing as we had gone to knock over the Ruston banking establishment, only to be foiled by a temperamental undertaker. It was getting dark when put them out, about 8 o’clock that night. I certainly hope they arrived back home safely. He was a hoot.
> 
> Otherwise, we are all fine, although a bit thin. We do take some risks when we take our laundry in to be cleaned, but I can’t live in filthy wear, and it is wearing down on Cas that he cannot bathe, as he is, y’know, _fastidious_ , as Cas says. (I do, actually.)
> 
> We will hopefully be home to visit soon. Please give my love to the others.
> 
>   
>  Dean (and Cas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crimes still do not technically cross state lines, even today; however, there are crimes that are considered federal and involve the FBI, such as multi-state murders. That being said, the FBI were not new in the 1930s, having been created in 1908, but they were powerless. In 1924, J. Edgar Hoover was made Director, and the game started to change. Regardless, the FBI were not very involved in the childish antics of Bonnie and Clyde, which may be lucky for them.
> 
> One of the lesser know weapons Barrow had were the Ford V8s. Clyde Barrow loved Fords. There is a letter in the Ford Motors Museum supposedly from Clyde, praising the Ford V8.


	8. Ruby Tells the Story (CH 6A)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the worst events for Cas occurs, and we hear it from Ruby.

> _"You’ll get only a prison sentence if you come in now," Mrs. Novak explained. "And while that’s bad, still and all, it’s nothing compared to what may happen before this is over. You’re not made for this sort of life, Cas. The strain is going to kill you if a bullet doesn’t. I’d be happier with you in prison than like you are, honey." Cas wouldn't hear to it. "Dean’s name is up, mama," he said. "He'll be killed sooner or later, because he's never going to give up. I love him and I'm going to be with him till the end. When he dies I want to die anyway. Let's not be sad. I'm in as big a spot as Dean is. My name's up too. And though it may sound funny to you, I'm happy, just being with Dean, no matter what comes." — Naomi Parker Novak, Kristy Cowan Barrow — F ugitives: The True Story of Dean Barrow Winchester and Castiel Parker Novak._

**INTERVIEW: RUBY BARROW WINCHESTER by CHUCK SHURLEY (1973)**

>Is this thing on? *tap tap* I don’t even… does it look on?

>Okay, this is Chuck Shurley, biographer, talking to Ruby Barrow Winchester, wife of criminal Samuel Barrow Winchester, also known as ‘Sam’ and ‘Sammy,’ and older brother of Dean Barrow Winchester. The date is March 19, 1973.

>(Texas accent) Sam was more than _just_ Dean’s older brother.

>I understand.

>I don’t think you do. I married that man before I even knew he was a criminal. He went back to prison to finish his sentence and, when he got out, his biggest mistake was thinking about his family, especially Dean.

>I’m sensing some hostility…

>You don’t have to sense it, Sherlock. I am hostile. Sam Barrow Winchester was a smart man. Except for the sticky fingers he had in his youth, he was a brilliant mind. Had he the money, he would have made a fine lawyer or doctor. Instead, the poverty of West Dallas in the 20s led him to be a thief. He never killed anyone. That was pure Dean. He was the murdering jackass. Sam didn’t have the heart to kill.

>Okay, I stand corrected. Now, the point I wanted to clarify was what happened in late 1933. The Barrow Winchester Gang all but fell off the map then. There was news of a car wreck and Cas being incapacitated… but…

>I wasn’t there for that. I can only tell you what I know. It was in late 1933, around June. I think it was the 10th or thereabouts, because we [Sam and Ruby] were to meet up with them in Erick, Oklahoma.

Dean was an excellent driver, but he tended to take those backroads way too fast for dirt. He was driving along at maybe 70 MPH, which for back then, that was fast as the devil. He wasn’t paying attention and missed the “Bridge Out” sign, probably because he was flirting with Cas as always.

Any way, he didn’t see it was out until it was too late, and they hit the dry riverbed. The car rolled over twice and then slid to the bottom with Cas pinned underneath the car. Dean had been thrown clear, and he pulled Jo and the guns out. But then, he said later, the car burst into flames and Cas was still trapped. He, well, Cas started screaming, something I think haunted Dean and Jo later, because he cried out, “If you can’t save me, shoot me!”

But Dean was having none of that, Jo said later. He kept diving back into the flames, trying to reach Cas. *deep sigh* Those two always had the most interlocked relationship. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t talk to Dean about it, and Cas would just give you this bright-eyed look that made you feel like you were smothering a baby bird.

Well, even then, with her unreasonable love for Dean, Jo knew there was no way that man was going to leave Cas behind to burn. Jo said he looked mad, completely _gone_ , yelling for Cas and trying to fight the flames off with his suit jacket. He was covered in blood and bruises, but he didn’t even notice, she said. Just kept leaping in, tears in his eyes, tugging on Cas, and swearing as he worked to get him out.

Jo said that some farmers finally came to see what the commotion was about, since there was thick black smoke just funneling off into the sky, and she saw something she had never seen in her whole time with them, and she didn’t recall ever seeing again: Dean begged.

Dean actually begged for help. “Help us! For God’s sake, help us!” Or something along those lines.

If it weren’t Jo reporting it, I would have never thought Dean had it in him to beg for anything. But it was his beloved Cas, so maybe that was the issue. Nothing less than Cas _could_ bring him to that point.

>So Cas was saved by the farmers?

>Well, it apparently took all four of them to get the burning car off him and get him out.

>What about his injuries?

>Terrible. I remember seeing him later. His face was blistered, his arms badly seared from the metal, and his whole right leg was a mass of cooked flesh, especially around his knee. that was burnt to the bone. He was in a great deal of agony.

>Newspapers at the time said that Dean pulled a gun on his saviors. That true?

>Well, Dean was a man obsessed. More than guns, more than cars, he loved Cas. I don’t know if he loved him more than his damn self, but maybe as close as that ass ever got to loving any one that much. But to hear it from Jo, and later from Dean, that gun thing was a straight-up lie. I don’t think he would have put Cas in even more danger by outing them like that.

>So what did happen?

>Dean told us later that those farmers took them up to their house, while Jo stayed back to hide the guns. That the wives tried to help Cas much as they could, but they weren’t doctors. That he needed a hospital, and Dean knew doing that would get them all caught and Cas quick into an electric chair. So he refused to take him.

>And those farmers? Pritchard, right?

>I guess. Dean’s refusal to go to the hospital got them suspicious, I suppose. Jo said Dean ran out of the house to figure out a way to carry Cas to safety, but that one of the farmers got it into his head to try and call the police and she had to pull a gun on them.

>And is that when she shot someone?

>I don’t know. Jo said something scared her, and, spooked, she shot at it, and it turned out to be a relative of the farmer, and she had shot the old biddy in the hand. Of course, Dean heard the shot from the crashed car where he had been looking for salvageable guns and went running up to find the other farmer had gone off to call the police. So he told Jo to lay low in the bushes and they were going to ambush the law because there were no cars on the farm.

>And those were Officers Corry and Hardy?

>How should I know? I just know Dean showed up in Erick with those two in tow, one of them holding on Cas, who was in great pain, like he was a lover. And Dean tied those two to a tree, telling Sam, “I’m not going to kill them. They’ve been with me a spell, and I’ve grown fond of their faces.”  Later, he told Sam, “They did Cas a kindness. He wouldn’t have made that drive to you without help.”  Which, although I was with Cas in the car, I was glad to hear. I had had it with bullets and death.

>And then?

>Well, Cas was in such serious condition, Dean was losing his mind. He ignored the fact we were wanted, and got us a cabin. And then he called a physician. And that was useless because Cas was in bad shape and really just needed a hospital. But Dean refused, and ended up with a small army of nurses to take care of Cas. Didn’t leave his side for a week. Barely ate, hardly slept, in agony because Cas kept calling out for Naomi [his mother].

Finally, when the doctor came again, he said, “You’d best get that young man’s mother here, because she’s not likely to see him healthy and whole again.”

That infuriated Dean, and he told Sam to find another doctor, who came in, looked over the situation, and said, “Best get this young man’s momma. He’s not long for this earth.”

>So did he get Naomi?

>Well, he left, but he came back with Anna. When I spoke to Naomi later, she said, “He wouldn’t bring us to Cas. He said he couldn’t stand to have neither me nor his own mother [Mary] in prison for helping out. So he asked for Anna. But then, Dean, that boy, that tough egg who took prison, losing two toes, nearly dying again and again, this man who had killed so many already, he broke down and started crying right there. Panicking and muttering brokenly '— Oh, God, he can't die — he can't — he can't!'"

>But he lived.

>*nodding* He lived, somehow. Dean never left his side for those two weeks. Anna was there and Cas didn’t recognize her from the fever that gripped him. He somehow survived the burns, but even as late as September 1933, Naomi reported he was still walking with crutches.

>But something happened, right?

>*bitter laugh* You could say that. There was that shootout where the marshal died. We never knew if it was Sam or Jo, but I’d bet on Jo.

>That wasn’t what I was referring to…

>Of course you weren’t. I’m not a ninny. *pause* You’re referring to the 23rd. *bitter laugh* _That day_ …

 


	9. Ruby Tells the Story: That Day (CH 6B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby finishes her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> \- Major Character Death  
> \- Violence  
> \- Shootings  
> \- Grief

**INTERVIEW: RUBY BARROW WINCHESTER by CHUCK SHURLEY (1973) - CONT'D**

>That day… _That day_ … well as you know, the whole thing started days before. Around July 19th, maybe, and it started with a lot of arguing. Sam kept badgering Dean, telling him that he was brainless and, take away his guns, and Dean was nothing but a baby with an attitude. I think he also called him a squealer, but Sam was really angry at Dean for having put us in the situation.

I think he said something like, “Luck has been with you so far. You haven’t escaped just because you are smart or because you used your head. If you had used your head, you would not have had so many murders on your hands. Well, I will never have so many on mine. You can kill and not give anyone a chance, but someday you will meet someone that won’t give you a chance to fire a shot.” 

>Wow, Dean’s known as having a bad temper. What happened then?

>They both got quiet until we passed a tourist camp with a couple of brick cabins, and Dean said sharply, “This is where we stay the rest of the night, even if we all get killed before morning.”

Of course, no one replied because he really was in a foul mood, but Sam threw a face at him, one that Dean called a “bitch face” as we parked the car up a side road. They covered up the guns and stuff, just in case someone wanted to look, and Sam leaned over while I was getting my bag. “We’re doing as we please,” he had whispered. “When we leave the cabins, it’ll be in our own car. We aren’t doing this anymore.”

>But… it didn’t go as planned?

>*Heavy sigh* Sam loved his brother. Cas was still down, in what had to be excruciating pain, and Sam hated to really just leave him like that. He sent me in to rent the twin cabins at the Red Crown Filling Station and Cabin Camp, since I was the only one without a record. They also sent me out to the filling station to get food with what money we had, which was actually nothing but fistfuls of change.

>So, the owner got suspicious?

>Who’s telling this tale? You or me? Yeah, the guy got suspicious. I told them that getting that much food would alert the owner that there were more than a couple of people in the cabins. That’s when the owner suddenly wanted to get our license number. I was trusting that Dean was still being clever and changing the license plates very often, like he had been, but between the fighting with Sam and Cas’s injuries, he must’ve forgotten.

>And that was...when?

>That was like July 19. The next day, Dean still didn't want to leave, and, because Dean thought it’d be okay, Sam agreed to stay. “It should be fine,” he said. “We should trust Dean if he says it’s okay.”

Both he and Dean dismissed my feeling of unease, like the people at the station were watching us. Perhaps it was because I was the only one to go, and so Dean couldn't tell.

>Word is that you weren't very liked in the group.

>*snort* I wasn't. Dean and Jo thought I was a whiner. Cas didn't really say one way or another, but he surely didn't go out of his way to speak to me. Well, if you’re implying they didn't believe me because of their dislike, that’s possible. Dean and Jo often thought I overreacted to things.

But that time...that time I just knew. The way the owner took the money for the next night and hinted that we would get a full refund if we decided to leave before 4 PM. The way the people at the bar looked at me funny when I went to fetch the boys beer for their dinners. The way the owner had gone to Platte City suddenly. I was feeling nervous, but, again, no one listened to me.

Dean and Jo had taken off that next morning to fetch more medicine and bandages for Cas, and I had a long talk with Sam. See, now I know it was just a premonition. Sam had asked me, “How’d you like to go to Canada after this? Get away from this violence? Get a cabin on a mountain somewhere, or maybe in a forest?”

“I’m up for it as long as we get out of this alive,” I had muttered.

But that made me question something that I had been avoiding. And I asked Sam what he would do if I died?

“Baby,” Sam said. “You know I couldn't leave you any old place, because we want to be buried side by side when we die, no matter which one dies first. Let’s don’t talk about it. It hurts too bad, because I couldn't live without you and I don’t like to think of losing you.”

Then he added, because Sam was the believer of the two brothers, “But promise me you will never commit suicide, no matter what happens. That’s something God will not forgive us for. And as long as there’s life, there’s hope. I will never kill myself and I don’t want you too. What would you do with me if I should be killed first?”

“Dad,” I said. “I would take you home or stay with you until I am taken away from you. I could take you home easier than you could me. If I get caught they can’t give me more than life in prison for staying with you. I haven’t committed any crime unless loving you and staying with you until death parts us is a crime. And I’ll stay with you, even if I am shot down or hanged afterward. I’ll stay if I am alive, until the officers take me away from you, or take you from me.”

>And…?

>Yeah, that’s what happened, isn't it?

Well, that night, Dean had sent Jo out to get some food, Sam was already in bed, and I was rinsing out some clothes, since Dean said we’d be safe until morning at least. My thinking is that he was worried about moving Cas any more than he had to since he was still so badly hurt and it looked like his leg wasn't healing up too well.

So I was rinsing things out when I heard a knock at the door.

Now I had told Sam that things had seemed strange. I had also noticed that there had been a bunch of cars out by the station, but things had gotten really quiet out there. So when the knock on our cabin door came, I was already tense, and it scared me.

Sam rolled out of bed, gun in hand, and getting his pants on as I stood by and asked who it was.

“It’s the law, ma’am! Send out the man in there with you!”

And I replied, looking to Sam, who was putting on shoes,“There’s no man in here with me!”

“Then where are the other men?” Asked the copper.

“Tell him they’re in the other cabin, and make sure to say it loud enough that Dean can hear it!”

I nodded and yelled, “They’re in the other cabin!”

Sam was prepared to shoot that cop, but when the cops approached the other cabin, Dean let loose the BAR and scared the hell out of them.

>BAR?

>I guess we’d just call it a machine gun now. But the BAR was much more powerful than anything the cops had. It was military grade, and the cops had, well, cop-grade guns. The BAR scared them badly, since they weren't prepared for it. The bullets actually went through the armored cars they had brought to pin our car in the garage. The cops actually backed up and got out of the way.

But, well, here we are… *pressed lips* umm… well… because of the position of the cabin door to the garage, we… uhhh… had to run out. Hmm… Sam made me run out first, and he was, uh, following behind me when I heard this particularly heavy shot. I turned to look, and, well, Sam was falling, blood spraying out.

>Are you okay? Do you need a tissue?

>*bitter laugh* "Okay" is a relative word. I got my Sammy into the car somehow, and we went flying out of there. But then they shot up the windows and I curled around Sam to protect him, and I felt this searing pain in my eye, and I screamed, “I can’t see!”  But there were too many bullets and shouts, and I don’t think anyone heard me.

>Did Sam die there?

>*quiet sob* No. He held on. Part of his skull was missing from the shot, but Dean still wouldn't take him to the hospital, no matter what. Cas was also still wounded and me, well… Dean asked me as we outdistanced the cop, “How’s Sammy?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see!”

And there was a series of curses and a light was shone in my eyes. I heard Cas say with his rough voice, “I think she’s got glass in her eyes.”

And Dean cussed more, most of it directed at himself. I heard Cas whisper, “Dean…” And he calmed down.

“I know you’re in pain, Cas, but Sammy is... Sammy is..."

“I know know, Dean. Just drive. We need to some space.”

>You did briefly get away?

>We did but… the car was small with so many of us in it and wounded. I was out of my head with pain and worry. I had to beg them not to tell Sam I was wounded. He was dying *choke* dying in my arms, and I couldn't do anything.

>What happened next?

>We ended up stopping at some large patch of bushes. We had stopped a few times to try and change bandages, but we were afraid to stop for food or anything. We just drove and drove, ending up at Dexfield Park, Iowa. For three days, we stayed in that patch of clearing, until Dean made the decision to take Sam back to Texas. He said Sam needed to go back to their mother, that he had promised to take them back.

“He’s got the shadow of Death on him, baby,” Cas tried to tell him reasonably. And Dean said, his voice trembling, “And that’s why we need to take him. I promised my Momma.”

> But that never happened.

>*deep sorrowful breath* Never did. Found out later that one of the locals had found some bloody bandages we had tried to burn nearby, and apparently the Town Marshall called in the nearby Sheriff and the National Guard. It was a group of 20 armed gunmen versus the five of us.

>Why didn’t you get away?

> *bitter laugh* I couldn’t see. And I wouldn’t leave Sam. Dean and Cas ran off with Jo, leaving us there, and somehow in the ruckus of having that many shots taken at us, Sam managed to get shot five more times. He collapsed in my arms, asked me to run. Mostly because he didn’t know I was blind.

*deep inhale* It didn’t matter. I wanted them to shoot me. I wanted to die with Sam. But they didn’t, and I raised my arms in surrender. I wouldn’t let Sam die like this. I didn’t care what he told me. He could get better. He just needed a hospital.

>*gentle voice* And?

>*shuddering breath* Maybe it was a mistake. They took me and Sam in, sent him to the hospital, and me to jail. They realized I couldn’t see, but didn’t do anything about it. I had to wait to hear about Sam, and they just told him he was in the hospital.

>Did you hear about him?

>I heard that they were afraid Dean and Cas were going to try and save him from the hospital. But they weren't. I knew they weren't. Dean knew Sam was safer there, and that at least their mother would be able to see her boy.

But I didn't know he had gone into a coma. I didn't know he had been paralyzed from the waist down thanks to the new shot to his back.

I didn't know that it was the infection to his head wound that really killed him.

I didn't even know when he died July 29th. I didn't hear about it until the day after. I didn't get to see him. *quiet sobbing*

>I’m sorry.

>*sniffling* It’s been 40 years since then. I just have to be happy his mother got to see him. And, even if it was all his fault, I’m sure Dean suffered a lot from losing his brother. He loved Sam more than anything.

But I’m glad Sam never saw how Cas and Dean went. Dear Lord, I am grateful for it, even if they deserved every single bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes: Marvin "Buck" Barrow did die of his wounds, made more complicated by pneumonia. He was in a coma until the end, and the newspapers morbidly accounted every moment.
> 
> Blanche (Buck's wife) was imprisoned the whole time, and never got to see him once they were in police custody. She also lost vision in that eye because they didn't get it looked at fast enough. She pleaded guilty to every charge and was sent to prison for a long time. 
> 
> On the positive side, when the local sheriff where Mrs. Cummie Barrow (Sam's mother) lived heard the news, he immediately arranged for her to go to Iowa and see her son. So Cummie got to see her son alive and in the end. 
> 
> In more morbid news, when they buried Buck, they did not attach the tombstone because they knew Clyde would soon follow and they wanted to bury their boys together. 
> 
> If you feel morbid reading that, I felt morbid re-writing it. Ha. Ha.


	10. Lull in the Gunfire (CH 7)

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

There was a lull in the Barrow Winchester Gang’s activities from the time of Sam’s death until January of 1934. It made sense as things were extremely hot for Cas and Dean and the media was eager for any tidbits of their whereabouts. False information about them spread like wildfire, but the truth was impossible to fathom: they were laying low. And they were laying low meanly, as in they didn’t stay in hotels, they barely slept or ate, and they avoided people. They lived in their car, whichever car it was that day. Naomi Parker Novak talks about how they hadn’t seen them in four months, and how they returned to their families thinner, still wounded, and looking older than their years. Cas was going to be 23 in a little less than a month. Dean was due to be 24 in March. They met their families with smiles on their faces. But everyone knew that life on the run was taking a toll on the couple.

My family doesn’t regret helping the outlaws out, although they were charged with helping them later. They told me that those two beautiful men had looked so thin and worn it broke their mothers’ hearts. They didn’t complain about their wounds, and they merely asked for some pillows and blankets because it was getting chilly and the car wasn’t quite warm enough. They had not been inside a house since July, nor even slept in a bed since then.

It’s no secret that these two knew that tragedy was going to take them. Perhaps it bothered them that their cursed destiny seemed to swallow up their nearest and dearest. Sam died, Ruby imprisoned, and their young nephew and niece died of strange maladies. They were unable to rest, hoisted by their own petards, thanks to those Joplin photos and their own notoriety.

* * *

**Taken from the Journal of Castiel Parker Novak**

### 3 Nov 1933

I’m mentally and physically exhausted. My leg hurts something wicked, but we have no time to rest as we fear being spotted. Who knew a moment of youthful whimsy would haunt us so thoroughly now? I mean, I don’t smoke cigars and I can’t shoot worth a damn.

Still, it was nice to see our families again. Dean would try and disagree but I know he misses them. He has nightmares about Sam now, on top of the ones he has about Eastham. I try to help him, but I’m in my own fiery Hell, the way my leg simply won’t move the way I want, and that anything that touches it hurts like hellfire. I cry sometimes because I’m afraid Dean will leave me. I’m not beautiful anymore! My leg is a horror! I am a cripple! I have so many scars!

But when I start crying like that, Dean pulls me to his side (on my good side) and he kisses me. He holds me and tells me it’s okay. He forces me to touch all the scars on his body, all the places bullets and glass have made him less whole. He makes me touch his chest, over his heart, and says, “Angel, Sam’s dead. You can’t imagine the hole I got left in my heart.”

These are the times I want to make love to my beautiful man. But the pain, dear God, the pain! I can barely tolerate it. Sometimes the pain and the medication make me insane and I start to say things, horrible things, that just spill out of my mouth. Pure filth that I didn’t even know I had in me! I cry a lot without provocation, and he takes it. He looks like he knows he deserves it. As if he is the scum of the earth and there’s nothing lesser on the planet than his existence.

Even worse, this makes me cry harder, because I love him so much, and he’s so beautiful. All this hate pointed at us, all this fear and disgust, and he still refuses to hurt people if he can avoid it (unlike Sam who just didn’t want to hurt anyone), and his love for his family, especially his mother. And how he loves me, even though we are both men. He loves me. He touches me as if I am precious and made of spun glass. It’s not just the burns (although they’ve made him more reluctant to touch me, as if I would shatter at his fingertips), but he’s always touched me with such reverence.

How can anyone hate this man?

But dear Lord, his green eyes are tired. They sparkle less. They fear more. I resent the law system that has made him feel lesser. I resent that he felt he had to do this to get ahead in this world.

For all the sleeping in the car, sneaking onto other people’s driveways to get some undisturbed sleep, hiding from the law that crawls all over the highways looking for us, I wouldn't change a thing. Not a single thing if it meant I had to live without having him even once. My life without Dean Barrow Winchester would have been dull and meaningless. Twenty-three years of faded colors, or my few years of glittering green with flecks of pure gold in the center… I would choose those green eyes in a second. That’s what brought color to my tedious pedestrian life.

### 1 Dec 1933

Dean has been in a temper. We had arranged to meet our mothers at Wise County, and when we met them there, it was obvious someone had dropped a dime on us, because there was a full posse out to get us. They shot at us, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that we had our mothers with us.

“I can’t believe they are shooting at us with our mothers in the car.”

Dean’s fury usually burned hot, and he cooled soon after. Whenever he was angry enough to burn cold, however, that was it. He was angry beyond measure. At that time, he was burning ice cold.

It was our mothers who calmed him down, but his anger was so cold he was bent on vengeance. He was out to get Sheriff Gordon “Walker” Schmid, the bull that dared to shoot at our mommas. I admit, I was angry, but probably more relieved that nothing had happened to either of them. We had been driving along, talking, when the bullets had come flying out of the night like hornets bent on carrying us to Hell. The car, when we finally stopped, was near church-worthy, it was so holey, and didn’t Dean just have to find a spot and curse like sailor.

It was only by a miracle that our mothers managed to calm him down and he didn’t purposely seek out Walker and kill him dead. He was rarely set for premeditated murder, but he was planning out Walker’s with frightening efficiency.

We managed to get our mothers to safety, and it was around this time that Dean purchased a blonde wig to fool the fuzz. I had to laugh because he would paint his whole face, lips and all, and we bought a woman’s bonnet to put on him. I bought one for me, so we were both driving along looking like a couple of dolls, which actually worked against us when men habitually took note of us. I have never been whistled at so much in my life. We’d stop for a red light and men would start giving us both the glad eye, so finally Dean just let me wear the bonnet and dress so we looked less conspicuous. It’s a shame because he was a really beautiful dame.

### 15 Dec 1933

Tonight was a bit amusing. We were tired of eating canned goods, as we had, and decided to risk everything to go into town to get supper. We were minding our own business at the sandwich shop, sitting in our own car in case we needed to escape, when a car came up with four lads in it, all of them spifflicated.

One of the fellas, a blustery sort, loudly said, “If you all don't stop ragging me, I'll sic Cas and Dean on you."

When we heard our names called out like that, we turned to look, rather startled, and we locked eyes with the folks in the other car. The loud fella, seeing us sitting there, waved in our direction, and yelled, "That looks like Dean and Cas there."

He was, of course, only joking, but Dean has that particular sense of humor, and it tickled him a bit to be spotted “as a joke” or used as a “boogieman” for these dumb mugs. So he called out, "Come here, fella. I want to talk to you."

The sap clambered out of the car, totally zozzled, and swaggering with the thought he wasn’t really confronting the “murderous duo.” Brown eyes out of focus, and his young face red with drink, he leaned on the car door and slurred, "What can I do for you?"

At that point, Dean leaned in real close and said softly, "You can close your face and keep it closed.” He pulled the fella in til they were cheek to cheek, and I heard him say, “I am Dean Barrow Winchester and this is Cas Parker Novak, and if you so much as mention our names again, we'll drill you full of holes."

It was entertaining to see the effect of Dean’s words. The young buck’s mouth hung open, his eyes got wide, and he just gurgled, "No, sir — no, sir."

So Dean patted his cheek, and motioned back towards his own car and said, “Now, you go back and get in the car and finish eating your order." Dean winked and grinned. "And don't make a move and don't tell anything to anybody. If you do — !"

I don’t know what Dean was expecting, but the fella was too scared to eat. His friends kept asking him what was wrong, but he just sat there with the sandwich in his hand, swallowing like he had a rock in his throat.

We drove away and now we are looking to park next to a riverbed for the night. It’s away from the highway so hopefully we can get some sleep. But at least we got in a giggle! Ah, Cas and Dean, the boogiemen from inside the closet! I can’t wait to tell my family that story!


	11. The Walls (CH8A)

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

Castiel failed to mention it much in his journals, but in this time period, between Sam’s death and January 1934, Dean was committing small robberies and buying guns for his raid on Eastham. He never gave up that dream.

It’s mentioned in Castiel’s journal that Jo had ditched them back in August thanks to her relationship with Anna (Cas’s sister: they became sweethearts) and that she didn’t want to die with them. What Castiel and Dean didn’t know was that Jo had been captured and the police had learned about the constant contact with their families. Thanks to Jo, they no longer had that luxury.

By January 1934, however, despite Cas’s reservations, Dean set his sights on Eastham again, thanks to his old buddy, Andy Hamilton Gallagher.

* * *

**Taken from Castiel’s Journal**

### 11 Jan 1934

We have found ourselves in West Dallas yet again.

We received word from Ansem Hamilton Gallagher that he wanted to meet. Dean was very reluctant since he didn’t like Andy one bit. I was also very reluctant because Andy Hamilton Gallagher was the best walking hex bag on the earth. Nothing good ever came from associating with him.

But it had been awhile and Dean agreed to at least hear Ansem out. I thought it was a bad idea, but Dean told me to shush with a kiss, and not to worry. That is irritating as hell.

When we met up with Ansem, he had this old guy by the name of Martin Mullens Creaser with him. Old fella had just finished his turn in the joint, and he had bunked next to Andy. Fella was the nervous sort, which didn’t inspire much faith in him, but Ansem assured him that he was still worth the listen.

Seems that Andy offered up $1000 big ones to Martin if he found us and made it payable on his escape from Eastham. He was to have us plant a number of weapons around the Prison Farm compound.

Ansem had, up to that point, a clean heel with no warrants or anything sticking to him. Still he wanted his brother out, so he agreed to help out.

Dean, of course, was uncomfortable.

“Angel, that Martin fella, he’s not very reliable. He used to take drugs and was a stool pigeon for the guards.”

“Still,” I said, curling in next to him on the bed Ansem had offered us in his barn, “he’s being offered a lot of money. And you’d get your revenge on The Walls, baby.”

Dean kissed me gently, his hand ghosting over my ruined side. I still had some feeling, but the skin was gone and all was left was this mass of scar tissue that didn’t move very much. I’ve learned to be quite the hobbler, and I’m so grateful Dean’s mother gave me his old crutches. Meanwhile, Dean has been driving this whole time in his socks in order to not hurt his toes. It’s a funny thing, being a matched set of invalids.

“Do you think I should do it?”

His voice was eerily loud in the barn, perhaps because I was used to the muffled effect of being in the car all the time. “I think it doesn’t matter what I think,” I said primly, because it was true. Dean rarely listened to me, and just went with his gut.

Dean’s hand traveled up my chest until his warm fingers dragged across the scruff along my jaw. “You are beautiful, Cas,” he whispered, his fingers brushing back the fringe of my hair. We hadn’t had time for proper shaves and haircuts, but my hair was already unruly without a proper barbering. Being long made it even worse. I cringed in his arms.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean,” I whispered. “I am twisted and ugly now. We haven’t had sex more than once in the past six months thanks to all our wounds. I’m no longer beautiful. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror when I drive.”

Those lips, still warm and soft despite all the hardships, touched mine and he kissed me delicately, as if I were made of fragile glass. “Don’t be like that, Cas,” he whispered, his fingers up and down my back. “You were made into this twisted shape because of me. How could I not love you because of it?”

Those damn green eyes... was God so against me that He would let moonlight highlight that gorgeous face. It was thinner, older, and more sorrowful than the first time I had seen him, but the taste of his kiss hadn’t changed. The way his hand slid into my pants, freeing me and taking my sex in hand until I was hard. And I was impressed I could still be excited. I gasped under his lips, and hardened under his palm. I vaguely heard him cuss as he paused to free himself from his trousers and then he clasped us both in the warm, tight circle of his fist. “I’ve missed this, angel,” he gasped into my mouth.

And then it all became urgent: the slide of our dicks along each other, the taste of each other’s mouth, the way his arm carefully held him up as he moved above me, our initial dews emerging and wetting the way to orgasm.

I had a thought as I looked into the dark shadows of those forest-colored eyes, that this time might be the last time. Every time since our first, each and every, I’ve thought this: _this time I will lose him._

I felt those tears well up as I broke and fell to pieces in his palm. _Dear God, please let him live and come to me. Dear God, if you ever listened to my prayers, let me die with him._

He wiped us off with an already filthy kerchief, both of us laughing at how untidy we had become since our last run in with the law, and only the tiniest edge of bitterness tinged it.

### 12 Jan 1934

One of my favorite things about Dean over the years has always been he’s a cunning cat when he chooses. When we met with Ansem and Martin in the bright AM, the first thing Dean did was point decisively at the two and say, “We’re going to The Walls, but, Ansem, you’re coming with me. Martin, you’re planting the weapons. No arguments.”

Martin and Ansem both reluctantly agreed, and the planning went smoothly from there because, if this was a trap as Dean feared, then Martin would be snapped up just as quickly.

Both Martin and Dean knew the layout of the farm and they planned the breakout accordingly, while I cooked and Ansem took notes. I wasn’t going to be in the actual raid, since I had no real ability to move as quickly as required. Dean, at least, still could move.

When I finish making the sandwiches for everyone, Dean planted a kiss on me and asked if I would clean the guns and ready the ammo. I agreed, ignoring the narrowed looks Martin gave me.

I cleaned the few handguns. I made sure that there was ammunition and then I wrapped them in oil cloth to keep them clean. We were as ready as we could be.

That night, Dean made love to me slowly, again, that thought in our heads, “Is this the last time? Please, don’t let this be the last time.” And I wished I were brave enough to remove the wedding band from my hand and give a new one to Dean.

But I wasn’t.

When he fell asleep, I crept from our bed and stood in the cold Texas air, letting the smoke from my Camels curl around me meditatively.

The end was coming. I could smell it in the crisp winter air. I didn’t know when… but soon enough.


	12. The Walls (CH8B)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

The amount of luck that went into their attack on The Walls should be documented. There was a low fog. Only one guard died. Several of the other guards deserted their posts. It was all in their favor that day. Only one other guy attempted to escape at the same time and he ended up caught by the next day. It can't be said enough: Dean Barrow Winchester was good at the getaway.

* * *

### 17 Jan 1934

...so it was with no surprise that The Walls fell so easily when there were pressures from out and within. Dean and Ansem used the BAR to surprise and scare everyone, while, from inside, Andy said that they only killed a guard.

“But Crowson was a right bastard, so don’t feel bad for him, baby,” he said to me, laughing into the mouth of his beer. God, Andy is the worst. I nearly fed him my fist for calling me baby.

As promised, Martin had planted the weapons, but, to my surprise, they put me at the wheel of the getaway car. I was to honk the horn, signaling the point of escape.

And they came running, like rats from a burning building, eyes wild, hair flying, and filthy with dirt. “Go, angel, go!” Dean yelled as he took his place at the window, Ansem beside me, the four newly-freed men squeezing in, whooping and yelling.

We took off at a shot, the pain just this side of bearable, and drove to the second rendezvous point, where Martin was waiting with a new getaway vehicle just northeast of Hugo, Oklahoma. The guys robbed the filling station and then some split off. Nervous Martin disappeared as did the dark-eyed fella by name of Bybee.  The guy who bragged about killing the guard was called Palmer. Not the nicest guy, but as expected of a felon. Still, the two who stuck around a bit were this kid named Kevin Methvin Tran and Andy.

Let’s see how long _this_ lasts…

### 21 Jan 1934

There is something amazing about the time we are living in. I had never fathomed being famous in this way. We have been put on par with John Dillinger, “Babyface” Nelson, and so many other famous criminals, it’s hard not to feel a bit honored by it.

I am writing about this because of the fuss that got stirred between Andy and Dean yet again.

It was Andy’s fault. First of all, he brought that horrible woman with him. Tracy is the worst. She is small and thick boned. Her mouth is coarse, and Dean has been ruthlessly calling her “the washer woman.” Andy got furious. Kevin just laughed.

Then, yesterday, they (Kevin, Andy, and Dean) had robbed a bank while Tracy and I sat in the car some distance away. The boys cleared $2400 and split it three ways, $800 each. But that wasn’t enough for Andy.

Things got worse when Dean spotted Andy in the backseat, palming more cash than his share. He leaned over and told me so. “Keep an eye on them, baby,” he whispered to me, dropping a kiss on my ear so as not to look suspicious.

But the worst, the absolute worse was this evening.

I had a fight with Dean. It was over something silly, I suppose. I don’t remember any more, just… a fight between couples. So I was by myself, sitting between some bushes because we were waiting for our family to visit with us, and we could give them some money. And I was mad as hell, just muttering things like, “I’m going home.”

Tracy, that sneaking devil, came up and sat next to me. She said in a convincingly soothing voice, “I wouldn't put up with him. I'd fix him, Cas."

"I’m going home, I simply hate him." My hands were shaking, I was so angry. I wanted to punch someone.

"I’d fix him before I left," Tracy said.

"I’m going to! You wait and see." I glared back behind us, at that ridiculously handsome man, when I heard her say, "I’d poison him."

"Poison him?" Now, if I weren’t mad at Dean, I probably would have just punched her, woman or not. "Poison Dean!?"

"Well, just dope him, then," Tracy conceded. "Then while he’s out, you can take his roll and beat it. Boy, think of the good time you could have on that money."

I couldn’t believe it. The conniving little bitch. But that was it. I was finished with Tracy after that. I told Dean, and Dean, righteously angry, told Andy that if Tracy stuck around, it was all off. And they split up right there, and we came back to Texas with Kevin.

But, as if it wasn't quite enough, Andy quickly wrote a letter to the newspapers about how he wasn't with us anymore, and how he had never killed anyone.

Dean was furious. "That lying sack," he snarled, "He tries to steal from us, he brings that washer woman along,  _she_ tries to kill me and steal our money... and then he pins all the crap he's done on _me_?"

It was incredibly adorable. Riled as hell, he took us to a Western Union and wrote up a response to Andy, pointing out that Andy was a lying sonuvabitch and that our whereabouts were known for that bank robbery. 

Oh how I kissed him for being so heated. After all, we were notorious and Andy wasn't even known. They'd just pin it on us any way, like they had several thefts and murders. I thought it was fine. But Dean wasn't having it. He was angry enough to swear his revenge on that rat.


	13. Beginning of the End (CH 9)

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

The initial Barrow Winchester Gang had been comprised of Benny, Dean, and Cas. The membership had swelled to six people, right when Dean and Benny were about to take on The Walls the first time, and then dropped to five (Sam, Ruby, and Jo) when Benny was imprisoned and Andy left. It dropped down to just the pair again after they lost Sam, Ruby, and Jo. They rejoined Andy for the last time after the jailbreak, that’s when they met arguably the most significant person they had ever met: Kevin Methvin Tran. Kevin was in Eastham for a 10-year sentence, and took his chance to escape. He stuck with them because he liked them, their pluck and their fame. After Andy (and his girlfriend, Tracy) left, he had stayed with them.

But Kevin Methvin Tran was pivotal in the two events that end our tale: the turning of the general populace who had idolized and feared Cas and Dean; the instrument of their betrayal and death.

* * *

### 3 Apr 1934

...and I don’t quite know what happened. We had not been doing anything suspicious, just relaxing near Grapevine, Kevin, Dean, and me. In fact, Dean was taking a nap in the backseat, and I was reading a novel I had found called “Better Angel” and Kevin was reading some book of philosophy that he liked to reread.

I heard this noise and I shook Dean’s shoulder. “It’s the law,” I whispered. Dean jumped up, awake, and peeked outside, while Kevin moved in closer to the car. You could see two men on motorcycles, riding towards us, and Kevin nervously moved towards the window near the guns.

The cops seemed to be enjoying the afternoon, much like we were, and their guns were in their holsters, seeming not to be expecting trouble.

Now, Kevin had been with us for a little bit, but, still, after three months, you would have thought he would have known Dean better. As the cops approached, Dean said, “Let’s take’em.”

And this is what caused the problem: Kevin had not seen Dean do much but shoot at cops. So, as Kevin explained it later when we were again running, “Let’s take’em” meant only one thing. I had to remind Dean that Kevin was also an escaped convict and wanted for a number of things, and he wasn’t used to being on the run like we were.

Dean hated to kill people who weren’t trying to harm him and his. That’s why he took so many hostages, and why all of them got away from him unharmed. It was his “code,” if I had to put a name to it.

Still… dear God, I can only pray for those poor men. They pulled up, got off their motorcycles, and, before even a word of pleasantry was exchanged, Kevin fired at them with six shots from a handgun followed by a shot each from a shotgun.

Both men collapsed near their motorcycles, guns still holstered, and Dean went white with rage. He cursed bitterly and got behind the wheel. He glared over at Kevin and snapped, "Get in here, you damn fool! Now you’ve done it."

Kevin was confused by Dean’s anger, and he waved the gun vaguely at the dead cops. "But it was them or us!”

Dean snarled, "Like hell!" He waited until Kevin slid into the back seat and he went on growling,  "They didn’t know who we were. Tell me! There’s not a pair of cops in the whole country with guts enough to come after Dean Barrow Winchester alone. They’d never have turned in that lane if they’d known I was down here!"

His lips were tucked into a white line and fury narrowed his eyes like a predatory bird’s. He turned the ignition and threw the car into gear, angry as hell.

I knew that Dean wasn’t lying. That those bulls had no idea who had been waiting at the end of the lane. They wouldn’t have casually driven up if they had know Dean Barrow Winchester, cop killer, was sitting in the car.

The death of Moore all those months ago had already started to turn the world against us, but I have to say the newspapers fixed this one into a doozy.

They claimed we had been parked in the lane all day (how did they know?) and that we had been doing target practice, eating lunch on the fender, and, the most curious of all, saying that Dean and I had been in the middle of making love out in the open. I was made even angrier about it being called “unholy acts” by one newspaper. I wouldn't do that right in front of Kevin!

And when Dean read it, he just snorted with derision and said, “What kind of fool is wanted for several acts and goes off and plays with guns openly like that?”

Apparently, to make it even more lurid, we opened up on the law with machine guns, killing them, and then the “sissy-girl” Cas (Sissy-girl?! SISSY GIRL?!) had kicked over one of the dying officers and pumped lead into him.

It’s a curious curl when you realize that there was no way that anyone would have seen any of this. There were no witnesses, so I’m not sure who told the papers that.

“Cas, my pretty, sissy girl,” Dean had snickered.

I glared, and he nuzzled into my hair and dropped a kiss on my cheek. “Sorry, angel. You’re manly as hell.”

Damn straight.

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

The image of Castiel putting the gun to those dying men irrevocably changed the way the general populace viewed him. He had been given a great deal of forgiveness because his beauty. It was the kind to shine through the grainy Joplin photos, his wide-blue eyes the picture of innocence in all the photos except the one with the cigar and the gun. And no matter how many times Cas asked the freed hostages to tell the press that he didn't smoke cigars but cigarettes, the press didn't care. That picture had become legendary.

In the meantime, the twin deaths at Grapevine had stirred the cops into action. The Texas Department of Corrections chief, Robert Simmons Singer, fueled by the Dallas police’s desire for retribution following Eastham and the death of the two motorcycle cops, was especially ready to end the spree and hired retired Texas Ranger,  Rufus Hamer Turner, to hunt the couple down.

Turner was no saint, seeing as he balked at the compensation (just $180 a month, less than half his usual pay), but Singer stated that Turner would also get his share of the reward money (which was $1000 for the "the dead bodies of the Grapevine slayers" and $500 more from the Governor). He even said Turner could claim what he wanted from the Barrow Winchester Gang’s possessions.

Singer had his own vendetta, as he wanted revenge for Crowder’s death at Eastham, and for the embarrassment that Dean had caused the Texas Correctional System. The news had had a field day that most of the guards fled their posts when the gunshots started up. For that, Singer is quoted by Turner as saying, “I wouldn't presume to tell you how to do your job, but my suggestion for getting Barrow Winchester and Parker Novak would be to put 'em on the spot, know you're right — and shoot everybody in sight."

What facilitated this event was Mrs. Linda Methvin Tran, who wanted her son away from Castiel and Dean, and not going to the electric chair for murder.

She brokered a deal with posse to get her son off the Grapevine murders. With that, Castiel and Dean’s time was running out.

* * *

**Taken from Castiel’s Journal**

### 7 May 1934

Things have been going well for us recently. The jobs on the 30th [April] and 1st [May] went off without too many hitches. I mean, no one died, so I count that a win. Still, our takes are so much smaller than say, Dillinger's, or even Andy's (if I were going to go there). I don’t mind, but it seems to bother Kevin somewhat. The kid is smart, so he’s helped me plan most of the strategy for the ins and out. If I had to say, they’ve turned into a ballet version of “smash-and-grabs” than more petty thieves engage in.

That’s a joke. I mean, I’m pretty much confined to the car during these things, since I can’t run and I won’t actually shoot anyone. It’d be embarrassing, but I’m a bit low on shame.

Yesterday we finally got to see our families after being apart for such a long period of time. Things after those two motorcycle cops got rough. And then there was that whole thing with the “police chief.” We didn’t know who that guy was until later, and then Dean uttered under his breath, “Oh shit!” But I think he was glad that Kevin’s overly happy trigger finger hadn’t blown the fella away.

But in all honesty, Kevin really does have a weird enjoyment of shooting cops. I swear, he’s got trauma from The Walls riding him whenever he’s faced with a uniform. It’s terrible. Dean hates it, since he prefers to take hostages and just let them go. Kevin hates hostages. There are no rows, but they each simmer in their own trauma where one kills and one doesn't. It’s rather uncomfortable, being the third wheel. Which, really, I’m not sure why that’s even a saying since a third wheel provides more grip and greater stability, but whatever.

It was nice to see everyone, but Dean’s mother looked particularly nervous. We couldn't stay long, as usual, but I got to see the nephews and nieces… the cousins showed up briefly, and we ate my favorite red beans, but something seemed off, and it all seemed surreal. I’m not sure why.

We leave in a couple of days to see Kevin’s mother in Louisiana, where she and his father are staying while they work for the family that owns the land.

The most uncomfortable thing is that a few of Dean’s family members still refuse to talk to me. They think I turned him into a homosexual or something.

Have they met Dean?

He’s sex on two bowed legs. Women throw themselves at him all the time, and he has his ex-girlfriends' names tattooed on his body. This is not to mention I’m married and I had been for years before meeting Dean. I don’t know what we are, but we’re not “homosexual.”

Well, although we are in this relationship. Does that mean we are? I don’t know. I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. I don’t understand the problem and why they keep talking about hellfire. I doubt God is going to care I’m kissing a man when we've been stealing things and killing people. Both of those are actually on the Big List Moses brought down, not "Men shall not have relations with men." Really, it seems the least of our problems.

### 17 May 1934

That particular chill has refused to go away. Dean has been feeling it too. He’s been jumpier than usual. Not noticeable to most people, but I’ve been with him for over two years now. Of course I would know.

Mrs. Tran is unnerving. If my Momma is calculating, and Dean’s mother is gentle, Kevin’s mother is abrupt and a bit scary. She gets in our faces and tells us about how wonderful Kevin is and how he’s going places. She’s little but clearly ready to tear our heads off with Momma Bear strength.

And it’s true, he went places alright: prison.

Kevin says nothing. He just takes it with a slightly defensive expression. His father just disappears into their bedroom.

I don’t blame him.

### 19 May 1934

I don’t often call Dean and idiot, but I called him one tonight. He ran off and left Kevin at the diner when a cop started getting nosy and giving him the eye. He didn't circle back later and fetch the guy. He just came straight back.

“I told him we’d meet him at the Bunker if things went south,” Dean said defensively.

I pointed out that, on top of losing Kevin, he had also failed to bring back lunch. He left to get some food, and I waited with the guns and gear.

I can't shake that chill.


	14. Betrayal (CH 10)

**AUTHOR’S NARRATION**

Linda Methvin Tran was tired of covering up for her son, but his hanging out with Cas and Dean was completely unacceptable. They were going to get him killed.

The fact that she was being harassed by lawmen in pursuit of the gang made the situation even less acceptable. Every day, Sheriff Hendrickson stopped by and asked if she had seen her son. Every day, she said no.

But finally, after a night of agonizing on the probability of her little boy being shot full of holes, and Kevin’s admission that he was responsible for the murder of those two police officers, it got to her. She was going to protect him from himself, whether he liked it or not.

The next day, the now-habitual knock came and she went to the door, resigned.

“Ma’am. Have you seen your son recently?”

Linda Methvin Tran was not easily cowed. The tall man who stood on her porch was not physically intimidating, but the sheriff’s star on his chest honestly worried her. Slowly, as if she were literally reaching into her chest to pry out the words, she said, “Yes, I have.”

Having hitched a ride back, he was actually nearby, in the designated hideout near Mount Lebanon that the Gang had nicknamed “The Bunker.” She wanted to keep him there.

The frown on Hendrickson’s face was intense as he narrowed dark eyes at her, and he pushed his way into the house.

“Ma’am?”

She let him into the house, sat him at the kitchen table, and, ever the negotiator, she started with, “What about my son? I want him safe.”

“Depends on what you can tell us.”

Her hands twisted in her lap. Time had been kind to Linda: her face at forty was still pretty and smooth. She sighed heavily and turned her determined gaze on Hendrickson. “I know where they’re meeting… let my boy get off on the Grapevine deaths and I’ll tell you.”

Hendrickson stalled. He didn't have the authority to do that, and he knew it. The Governor was riding all the officers about the situation, but if he could provide a viable and solid lead, it would look good for him and his.

While he balked, Linda Tran stared back at him. “Time’s a wastin’, Sheriff.”

Finally, Hendrickson nodded. He had more to gain than to lose.

Linda rode with him to the station, where she had witnesses to the deal. She told him what she knew and she watched him make the phone call to Turner.

At least her son was safe.

* * *

**Taken from Castiel’s Journal**

### 22 May 1934

It’s ridiculously quiet. I don’t know why that’s making me nervous.

Dean has been working on the brand-new 1934, four-door Ford V8 Deluxe (so he said; it’s just a car) we had stolen in Topeka [Kansas], looking it over with a loving eye. He does love fast cars, and the new V8 sedan had taken his fancy from the moment he laid eyes on it. “Just like you, angel,” he had chuckled.

Sap.

We’re heading to Louisiana to fetch Kevin, and we stopped for dinner at a diner. We enjoyed our cheeseburgers, and Dean's ordered the cherry pie.

Still experiencing that chill. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t breathe. I sent a letter yesterday to my Momma, telling her about the chill, and I wondered if this is what they mean when they say someone walked over my grave?

We didn't do anything else, though. Tonight, we sat in the car, just the two of us. The night sky was quite pretty, and I enjoyed the wispy clouds. Dean nuzzled into my hair, his arms wrapped around me as we looked up. “Cas,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

This actually scared me, because Dean never apologizes for anything. “For what?”

“For dragging you into this life.”

I laughed and he hit me. “You didn’t ‘drag’ me into this life, Dean. I jumped into it. I may not have known _exactly_ what I was getting into, but, even if I did, I'd still jump.”

“But that’s what I mean.” He sighed, and I felt his chest rise and fall with it, his heart beating just that little bit faster. “I am a bad man. I’ve done bad things. I’m gonna die with a gun in my hand…’cause that’s what I have waiting for me. And that’s all I have waiting for me.” He sat up and forced me to look at him. “I want you to get out. I want you to have a life… you, with a wife and kids and…and grandkids…living until you’re fat and bald. That is my perfect ending.”

“I gave everything for you, and this is what you tell me?" I laughed and hugged him close. "I'm hunted, I've rebelled, and I did it — all of it — for you. I love you, Dean. So even if everyone else abandons you, I won’t.”

“My own guardian angel.” He kissed me. His arms were warm. His lips were warm. But the chill didn’t go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's speculated that Henry Methvin (AKA Kevin) did not know his father had made the deal with the police to get him off the hook. Also, he still had the Oklahoma murder to pay for, and he was extradited to face charges for that. He served (for reasons I have no idea about) six years of a life sentence, but never stopped his law breaking ways. He was killed at age 36 when he stumbled onto a train track drunk and was hit by the train. There is some speculation that this was an act of retribution for Clyde and Bonnie's death, since, a year or so prior, something similar happened to his father, but no evidence was ever found.


	15. They Died as They Lived (CH 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I dumbed the violence down. A lot. 
> 
> ALSO - I didn't have time to get the last few chapters beta'd so all mistakes and stupidity are mine. Resources will be added later as timestamp.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

> _The long chase was over. The law had won. Cas and Dean would never stand the world off again, two against death, for death had overtaken them at last. — Naomi Parker Novak, Kristy Cowan Barrow — Fugitives: The True Story of Dean Barrow Winchester and Castiel Parker Novak._

* * *

## POSSE KILLS DEAN BARROW WINCHESTER AND CASTIEL PARKER NOVAK

 

_Ambuscade on the Highway Ends Long Criminal Career on the Pair_

>   
> **Shreveport, La., May 23** \-- Dean Barrow Winchester, notorious Texas "bad man" and murderer, and his cigar-smoking, quick-shooting accomplice, Castiel Parker Novak, were ambushed and shot to death today in an encounter with Texas Rangers and Sheriff's deputies.
> 
> The 24-year-old desperado, who was accused of twelve murders in the last two years, and his companion and so-called lover, whizzed along a little-traveled, paved road near Gibsland, about fifty miles east of here, at eighty-five miles an hour in a high-speed gray automobile, rushing into a carefully-laid death trap.
> 
> Before they could use any of the weapons in the small arsenal they had with them, the Rangers and others in the posse riddled them and their car with a deadly hail of bullets.
> 
> The onrushing machine, with the dead man at the wheel, careened crazily for an instant and then catapulted into an embankment. While the wheels of the wrecked machine still whirled, the officers, taking no chances with the gunman who had tricked them so often, poured another volley of bullets into the machine.
> 
> **Both Died Holding Guns**
> 
> A moment later the uproar in the otherwise peaceful countryside spot had subsided and the officers swarmed over to the car. They found that Barrow Winchester and Parker Novak had died with weapons in their hands, prepared to kill at the slightest alarm. Parker Novak was crumpled up on the seat, his head between his knees and a machine gun in his lap. Barrow Winchester, a smear of red, wet rags, had been clutching a sawed-off shotgun in one hand as he drove.
> 
> The car proved to be a traveling arsenal. In it the officers found three submachine guns, six automatic pistols, one revolver, two sawed-off automatic shotguns and enough ammunition for a siege.
> 
> Governor O. K. Allen of Louisiana congratulated Sheriff Anderson Jordan of Bienville Parish, where Barrow Winchester and Parker Novak were killed, when he was informed of the details today.
> 
> The so-called "Public Enemy No. 1 of the Southwest," a mere hoodlum in Dallas up to 1930, met his end in an ambush that had been planned carefully by  Rufus Hamer Turner, a former captain in the Texas Rangers, who had clung to Barrow Winchester's trail for years.
> 
> Turner, who was recently commissioned as a highway patrolman for the special purpose of getting his man, as well as his partner, trailed Barrow Winchester into Bossier Parish, where the criminal was said to have relatives.
> 
> It was reported that Turner had received a tip as to Barrow Winchester's whereabouts from the mother of a convict who recently escaped from a Texas penitentiary. The mother, a resident of Louisiana, whispered the word to the authorities in the hope of winning clemency for her son.
> 
> Several weeks ago Turner and his fellow officers barely missed the couple at a hide-out at Black Lake. Since then, the Rangers and Sheriff's deputies charted the highways that had been frequented by the pair and then quietly adopted a scheme of watchful waiting.
> 
> Once again Turner picked up a "red-hot" clue to Barrow Winchester's trail, this time in Bossier Parish. He anticipated that the outlaw and his friend would head west toward Texas. Turner, a Ranger associate, Sheriff Jordan and his men raced ahead to a point on the highway where they got an unobstructed view of the road. There they hid and waited.
> 
> Shortly after 9 A.M. the lookouts recognized the eight-cylinder sedan approaching at terrific speed. Some of the officers coolly walked out into the roadway, motioning and shouting for the driver to halt, while those in the ambuscade trained their weapons on the criminals.
> 
> Barrow Winchester answered by stepping on the accelerator and reaching for a sawed-off shotgun. In a split second the officers of the law, spurred by the knowledge of Barrow Winchester's ruthlessness, opened up their death-dealing barrage.
> 
> The first volley appeared to have the effect of a bolt of lightning, and the uncontrolled car shot with its topmost speed into the embankment. The law had settled its score with Barrow Winchester and his quick-shooting accomplice. - [NEW YORK TIMES](http://www.nytimes.com/learning/general/onthisday/big/0523.html#article), 1934

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE**

What is missing from 90% of the news reports is how human their two desperadoes were in their last moments. Before heading towards the Bunker, they stopped by Rosa Canfield's Cafe in Gibsland around 8AM because Dean loved donuts. They ordered sandwiches to eat on the road, including one for Kevin. It was reported Cas died with a gun in his lap, but not that he had been holding on to his half-eaten sandwich.

The posse of four men, two from Texas and two from Louisiana, had laid in wait for two days. When the tan Ford V-8 sedan approached around 9:10AM, Bob Alcorn, an officer from the ambush in November, when they were meeting their mothers, positively identified Dean, as did Linda Methvin Tran.

He said, quietly, “It's him, boys. This is it–it's Dean.”

At those words, the officers opened up with a deadly fusillade and, when the shooting stopped, Dean and Cas were dead. Dean had actually died from the first shot, which tore through his head and struck Castiel. But Castiel actually survived that first volley, his scream a signal that treated him to a second round as the officers emptied their arms into the car, firing almost 160 shots into it as it listed 50 yards and came to a stop. They later said, "We didn't want to take a chance." 

The car was mangled into pieces by the gunfire, and, between them, Castiel and Dean were shot 50 times.

Perhaps in a twist of irony, Mr. Darby, to whom they had given $5, did indeed help with their corpses. Their funerals brought crowds in excess of 15,000, and despite Castiel’s wishes to be buried with Dean, he was buried in the family plot, his mother’s statement being, “He [Dean] had him for the last two years. That’s enough time.”

In the aftermath of their death, John Dillinger, George “Babyface” Nelson, and Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd were also gunned down by Federal and police officers in the succeeding months. The biggest difference was that, unlike those other men, Cas and Dean were known not just murderers, but as lovers on the run. Theirs was a wicked, salacious love story with a broken end. They inspired love stories and have helped fuel dangerous loves until today.

And, really, it was as if the death of Cas and Dean signaled the first tones of an elegy of that era, the first signs that the heyday of the “American Robin Hood” and gangster was gone. But, unlike the rest, their epic love never went down in flames. 

FIN

 


	16. [TIME STAMP] References and Resources

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a list of sources used to write Ballad of Cas and Dean. Thank you.

**MOVIES:**

I attempted to view "Bonnie and Clyde," both [the original movie from 1967](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0061418/) and the new [History Channel](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2707792/) addition, but they were kind of... awful. I did use them for bits of reference to see how their costume designer or writer handled a couple of scenarios (like when Buck meets back up with Clyde), but for the most part... I ignored them. I promise it was with good reason.

[TIMEWATCH-- The Real Bonnie and Clyde](http://youtu.be/cRYp6Xos79k): Useful.

[Film Taken by Ted Hinton](http://youtu.be/k8TJcbRauzM): Hinton took the video **_right after_** they were confirmed dead. You can see their bodies in the car. 

[Clyde Before Bonnie](http://youtu.be/2_jOdp50AXE): About the time period and what Clyde got into.

[The Unknown Bonnie Parker](http://youtu.be/5tngioAySiw): Short documentary about Bonnie, her interests and family.

[The Last Day of Bonnie and Clyde](http://youtu.be/uhHD-8bAIeQ): Just as it says... 

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**ACTUAL BOOKS:**

As you can see, I  _did_ end up reading two books because of the personal voices in them. You'll also note that I actively quoted out of "Fugitives" and, if you note the tone in both, you can see why I chose the storyline format I did. 

[ Fugitives: The Story of Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker ](http://www.amazon.com/Fugitives-Story-Barrow-Bonnie-Parker-ebook/dp/B00AX7VMJS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422737691&sr=8-1&keywords=fugitives+bonnie+and+clyde&pebp=1422737630572&peasin=B00AX7VMJS)Ellen Parker & Nell Cowan Barrow. (1934)

Although I altered the names and title, the words around it are actual quotations from the book. Just change it back to Bonnie and Clyde. The other thing is... it seems Bonnie and Clyde lied a lot to their family (with good reason), so this text is biased. 

[My Life with Bonnie and Clyde](http://www.amazon.com/Bonnie-Clyde-Blanche-Caldwell-Barrow-ebook/dp/B009NXK8OI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422737725&sr=8-1&keywords=my+life+with+bonnie+and+clyde), Blanche Caldwell Barrow. (1939) She's (of course) biased, but it's an okay book. Most online timelines rely on her recounting, but I find it vaguely difficult when she wasn't around for most of the time they were on the run.

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 **WEBSITES** :

[About.com](http://history1900s.about.com/od/1930s/a/bonnieandclyde.htm): A nice history. I used it occasionally to double- or triple- check a detail. 

[Biography.com](http://www.biography.com/people/bonnie-parker-9542045#synopsis): You'd think this would be more useful, but, again, it was a vague overview.

[Bonnie and Clyde History](http://bonnieandclydehistory.blogspot.com/2010/02/bonnie-and-clyde-q-what-did-bonnie-do.html): This site was one of the most useful. It sometimes gave insight to areas I was having problems understanding or coming to terms with because things weren't adding up, narrative-wise. They don't have a friggin' comprehensive timeline, though, and that would have been HELLA helpful. 

[CrimeLibrary.com](http://www.crimelibrary.com/gangsters_outlaws/outlaws/bonnie/2.html): This was where I got most of the information over their first meeting.

[FBI.gov](http://www.fbi.gov/about-us/history/famous-cases/bonnie-and-clyde): A succinct and semi-FBI view of the events. (Seriously brief)

[Geographical Information Systems](http://gisetc.com/bonnie-clyde-mapping-a-life-of-crime/): Yeah, this was helpful in looking at WHERE Bonnie and Clyde did their hits.

[Daily mail.](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1186790/Bonnie-Clyde-How-pair-bit-crooks-worlds-famous-gangsters.html) Yeah, UK news media. Like most not-US media sources, they are focused on events as told by Guinn in his book "Go Down Together," which actually was of almost no help, since it was skewed to some degree by Guinn's romantic notions and, occasionally, relying on family accounts, best that I can tell. 

[Heart of Texas](http://www.heartoftexastales.com/clyde-barrow-gang.html): Here's the thing. Many of the places hit by the Barrow gang are rather morbidly proud of being hit. Almost each one has a page regarding events that happened. Most of the police forces have a page to the lawmen downed by the gang. Enjoy.

[New World Encyclopedia](http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Bonnie_and_Clyde): Ha. It's like doing a report. Again, succinct.

[Shreveporttimes.com](http://archive.shreveporttimes.com/article/20090517/SPECIALPROJECTS08/905170322/A-timeline-crime-terror): One of the time lines I relied on, but that still had conflicts with books and newspapers. 

[Texas Hideout](http://texashideout.tripod.com/bc.htm): Not the most intuitive site, but one of the most comprehensive.

[The Reading Wire -- Bonnie and Clyde and Henry Ford](https://thereadingwire.wordpress.com/2011/06/13/bonnie-clyde-henry-ford/): A nice sum up (with pictures) of Clyde's relationship with Henry Ford's V8 and a look at Bonnie's relationship with Clyde based on her journal entries. 

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**FINAL NOTE:[Homosexuality in the 1920-30s](http://sdsumachinal.wordpress.com/1920s-gay-culture/)**

My point here is that, although homosexuality is not really considered all that bad in the 1920-30s, this was lovely and wonderfully conservative Dallas, Texas. Also, Cas ended up more femme than I wanted, but Bonnie Parker was the _girliest_ girl ever. Her journal gave me cavities. She sounded a bit like Harley Quinn with her man. Any way, I tried to make him not so femme and it just... *sigh* I TRIED. 

In an amusing touch (considering most people don't read these things), the book I quoted Cas as reading, "[A Better Angel](http://books.google.com/books/about/Better_angel.html?id=r1WuAAAAIAAJ)" is the story of young man coming to terms with his sexuality in the 1920s-30s. :D

I'm going to throw myself off a bridge now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the lingo evading you? Here:  
> [1920s Slang](http://mollsanddolls.blogspot.com/2007/10/1920s-slang-dictionary.html)  
> [More 1920s Slang](http://local.aaca.org/bntc/slang/slang.htm)  
> [Jazz Age Slang](http://home.earthlink.net/~dlarkins/slang-pg.htm)  
> 
> 
> [Ballad of Cas and Dean](http://8tracks.com/naoe/ballad-of-cas-and-dean?utm_medium=trax_embed) from [Naoe](http://8tracks.com/naoe?utm_medium=trax_embed) on [8tracks Radio](http://8tracks.com?utm_medium=trax_embed).
> 
> Sources and inspirations at end! :D


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